Marigold
by Falaphesian
Summary: He never knew what not to do. But he always got it right. Up until The Lightning, The House, and The Kid all came crashing down. Now he just can't stop doing it wrong. Axel x Roxas.
1. Theme Song

**Marigold**

'Theme Song'

x.Axel.x

My dad owned a family business way up North where the blueberries grow. You know, blueberries for watermelons and smaller things for bigger things. A real backwoods kinda place by some lake by some nowhere town. You get the picture. A real goddamn nowhere town. Anyway, he had this business re-siding the houses of all the rich girls and boys who live on the southern end of the lake and have nothing better to do with their dirty money than throw it around on stupid pointless things.

You know. Wind-surfers, jet-skis, sun-houses, two-door-garages, pontoon boats, speedboats, Ralph Lauren bikinis and garden gnomes. And while I'm not even fucking sure if Ralph Lauren makes bikinis, I do have to admit that I _am_ a sucker for the occasional well-place garden gnome. But these people with their manicured lawns-- seriously, the grass looks like it was painted on the goddamn ground-- have no concept of priority or garden gnome placement, so really, they just don't make the cut in my book.

Getting down to business, that's how I found my ass tacking up new siding on this _one _place-- this one place down on the south end with the pure green lawn and the luxury pontoon boat and all. It wasn't even as though their previous siding had anything wrong with it, they just felt like coughing up a couple thousand to make the goddamn thing Burnt White instead of Puke Tan. Not that I was complaining or anything, mind you. On a regular basis, I make it my business not to talk to whatever asshole's hiring me. Not because I hate talking to them (though I do) and not because I think their conversation isn't worth my while (though it isn't)-- but just because if I really got the chance to have a good cup of java and a five-minute chat time, I'd probably convince them not to go through getting their siding redone.

Because, really, I'm persuasive as hell and they're all pushovers anyway.

Well there I was, up in the air, just me and the side of this big ass house, chilling in the summer heat. I remember it all so damn clearly because it's pretty difficult to forget, really. Because there I was, hammering down another nail, putting up another slab of pseudo slate siding when right there in front of me appears this gloriously naked blonde kid.

Okay, so he wasn't completely stark raving naked-- he had on a pair of boxers. What do you want. So I exaggerate. All the cool kids are doing it.

He just sort of stared at me for a minute with this 'What the fuck?' expression that half hovered between wakefulness and full-blown unconsciousness. And I just sort of stared back because I mean, hell, if you'd _seen_ the kid-- what am I saying. You hadn't seen the kid. Never will. You don't know. You can't possibly begin to know.

This kid was like no goddamn other and I'm not being mushy-- can't be mushy, for crying out loud, it's physically impossible for me. His hair was all bent out of shape and sticking up on one side, some dirty-but-bleachy-blonde that looked as thought it'd seen a heck of a rough battle between him and a bottle of peroxide. But those eyes made up for it, for I swear I have yet to see another pair of big baby blues quite as blue as those, quite as bright as those, and maybe, just maybe for one half of a second, I went a little blind because they were so bright and so blue and so not Burnt White.

And then the kid let out this kind of grunted howl as he probably realized he was standing there (again, practically naked) in front of a total stranger suspended outside his second-story window.

I tell you, it's moments like that which make the whole damn job worth doing.

His room went dead silent after I heard the door slam, though really, the kid shouldn't have felt like he needed to race out of his entire goddamn room. Closing the curtain would've been sufficient enough, I mean. But oh well. Who knows what was on his mind-- I never really did find out. I always just got to figuring-- got to picturing in my own happy little head-- that he'd just woken up, just rolled out of bed, still clawing to hold onto the sheets and the dreams and the whateverthehell he had going on before morning. It was a nice thought, actually, that little squirt all curled up in a mass of sheets and pillows and sleepyhead dreams.

Yeah, yeah, go ahead and laugh your fucking ass off. I'm just telling it like it was.

Anyway, as the story goes, I got maybe about another half-hour's worth of work in before the sky ripped a bitch and started pouring down all over my moron head. I just sort of stood out there-- up there, rather-- out on the ladder, just begging to be struck by a divine bolt of lightning. Nothing like a good old fashion redemption convention to mellow the hell out of you. I probably would've, too-- gotten struck by lightning, that is-- if old man what's-his-face (the asshole who hired me) hadn't stuck his grey old mop out the window and told me to come on inside.

"Nah, I'm fine," I said. What an idiot.

"No you're not! You'll die!" he hollered. ...What an _idiot._

I could've gone on arguing, but really, I didn't have too hot of an argument working for me there. By the time I made it down the ladder and into Old Geezer's house, I was soaked to the bone and that's no exaggeration or goddamn joke. Didn't help that the fucker had the air conditioning on full blast so it was practically like crossing the goddamn Arctic peninsula to follow him into his fancy ass kitchen. ...I don't even know if the Arctic has a fucking peninsula.

And that, kids, is why I tack up house siding for a living.

But of course, wouldn't you know it. Just who should be sitting at the kitchen table when I walk in? None other than the prime specimen of blonde male youth I'd gotten an eyeful of just earlier. God, I swear it was all I could do to keep from laughing in the poor squirt's face right then and there. The minute I entered the room, you could just tell he was freaking the hell out on the inside, but trying to play it cool. You know. Trying to play like it happened every day, like he wasn't embarrassed. Bull. Shit.

"Roxas, this is The Help, Axel." I just love it when people turn housework into something worthy of a title. THE HELP. It almost makes it sound important, wouldn't you say?

Clearly, this Roxas kid wasn't in the same state of idol worship (laughing my ass off) as his pops, because the kid just muttered some sort of weird and half-assed "Hello" before cramming more Rice Krispies in his mouth. He was a speed demon all of a sudden, seeing how fast he could eat his goddamn cereal so he could bolt outta there like nobody's business. It's a wonder he didn't choke on the spoon, really.

"Like a drink, Axel?"

"No thanks. I'm good."

I still haven't figured out if the man was half deaf or just stupid, because he just grinned like a moron and nodded his big head up and down, up and down. He went, "That you are. Those shingles look absolutely marvelous."

For the first time since I entered the room, Roxas looked up from his cereal bowl. You could tell the poor kid was even _more_ embarrassed by his old man saying a stupid word like 'marvelous' in that stupid way he did. 'Those shingles look absolutely marvelous!' Poor kid. I started feeling really damn sorry for him right about then. That was why I tried to avoid talking to the people who hired me, see. Aside from the fact that I had this lame habit of talking people out of a sale, I also got to find out what total assholes they were and then got to feeling sorry for anyone who had to know them.

"Say, Rox. Whaddya say you go grab our buddy here a towel, huh? 'Atta boy!" He clapped the kid on the back so hard that Roxas nearly went flying face first into his empty cereal bowl, but he didn't say anything. Just disappeared into some hallway somewhere, off to fetch some thing. "You old enough for a beer?" his dad asked. I guess he hadn't been paying too much attention earlier when I'd said I was damn good and didn't want a damn drink, but hey, at that particular moment, alcohol was starting to look good. But was I _old_ enough for a beer?

"Just last month." ...Annnd that would be a lie, ladies and gentlemen.

"Happy belated birthday, then. Here's to success." He pulled out some fancy looking beer and poured it in these two fancy looking tumblers. Who the hell does that, anyway? Beer is a manly drink-- you're supposed to drink it like a man. From the bottle, you know. Clearly he didn't know this, because he slid one of the tumblers on over to me-- ice in it and everything. Ugh. "So what're your plans, huh? Young man like you-- you're bound to have plans outside of a family business, huh? You go to college?"

"Haven't really given it much thought."

"Well I tell ya, the medical field is always a safe zone. I_ tell_ ya. That's where Rox is headed. Ain't that right, boy?"

I hadn't even noticed that Roxas had come back, holding this massive green towel in his arms and still looking flustered, for all that he tried to cover it up. I couldn't help it. I had to laugh. Sadly, it just ended up looking like I was choking on a stray ice cube from my girly beer.

"Here." He handed me the towel with a look which almost expressed his desire to erase me from his head forever.

"Thanks." I took the towel with a look which almost conveyed my absolute delight at his ruined day and his complete humiliation.

"Roxas is headin' into med school once he graduates next year. Just like his old man!" his dad said. Roxas took his bowl to the sink, but I couldn't miss the wince he gave at his pops' words. "That boy-- that boy's got plans. Sure, he's a bit of slacker from time to time-- not like _you_, Axel. Surely an ambitious fella like yourself has some goal, huh?"

I thought of telling him that I wanted to a persue a career in physical education, just to see what the look on the old man's face would be. Thankfully, I picked that moment to put the drink aside on account of I'm not an angry or a depressed drunk-- I'm a goddamn happy drunk and happy drunks are liable to say just about anything for kicks. I was about to make up some lame-ass sap story about some law-degree that went wrong, but thankfully I was cut off before I could really get rolling. Roxas' dad forgot everything we were talking about as the door to the kitchen swung open and in strolled his supermodel bride from hell, all giggles and all, _all_ girl. ...Well, that and plastic.

"Jane-y!" I could see Roxas flinch again when his dad said her name. Damn that kid was twitchy. But I guess that if my dad was that hooked on something so bad for him, I'd be the same. Young women are like drugs to older men.

I wonder how the kid felt about his old man getting himself a trophy wife. I mean, there was no way around it, really. I'm not exactly being nasty when I say it. I'd seen the thing-- the woman out back from time to time. This real long-legged thing with these huge tits and a perm that made her head look almost as big as her jugs, at least. The way she tanned herself, you could just tell she'd be forking over more money for plastic surgery later on in life. Keep your healthy youthful glow, keep your ancient moneybags husband. Simple formula. Got it memorized yet?

And just then, for no real reason, I felt this goddamn urge to comfort the kid. I can't explain it and it's cheesy as hell to say. I hated myself the moment after I thought it-- wanted to drive my skull into a wall fifty times for the thought alone. But I'm not about to deny it was ever there. I just couldn't imagine being in this kids' shoes.

I guess I must have been staring, because Roxas turned around and-- _bam!_-- there was blue.

"Jane, this is Axel. You've seen him."

"Oh _yeah_! Of _course_ I have! You're doing a _wonderful_ job, Axel! Absolutely _wonderful_!" She was one of those real perky kinds of people. The kind who smiles real big, who talks down to you and slows her words down so you can understand just how goddamn _happy_ she really is. I just nodded, smiled, and suddenly my drink was back in my hand because I had to drown her out of my head forever. Good lord, that annoying woman sitting on that ancient guy's lap.

When I looked up again, Roxas wasn't there. I couldn't really blame him, either.

After that it was pretty simple. The rain died down and I was back out on the ladder, but the curtains to the kid's room were shut tight. I knew he was in there because I could hear music coming through the walls, something French, something familiar. I'd heard it before, but I didn't know where.

_'Ou est mon maitre le prince rebelle...?'_

But all I could do was listen and the window stayed shut. And at the time, it wasn't a big deal. I had work to do and the kid had nothing to do with me. But still... somehow, it felt like a rip-off.

x x x

Some days later and I was still working on the same stupid mansion house down on the same south end of the lake. The man of the house was out with his wife for the day, probably getting it on in some cheap and easy motel somewhere where his son couldn't hear them hitting the headboard against the wall. No kid ever likes to hear their parents having sex. Especially when one of them isn't your parent. Anyway, that fact aside, it looked like rain again. I knew this, I saw it coming, I swear, but I was nearly done with this one damn side of the house. I was being a stubborn shit and wanted to get it finished so I wouldn't have to look at that kid's window anymore, hoping it would open again.

I never said I wasn't a perverted freak, come on now.

Well, I nearly was done, but the rain just wouldn't hold back any longer. Down it all came, light at first but with a rumble of thunder way off somewhere giving the nod and wicked grin that promised it would get so much worse. I figured I could put in a few more nails, put up a few more pieces, at least get this end done. At least. But then.

I looked to the left and there was Roxas, leaning out his window like it was the easiest, most natural thing in the world. He was wearing this black button-up that made him look older, more serious, more stable. More mature than his old man, that's for sure. But his hair was still messy, still sticking up all weird. And his eyes were still blue and his skin was still the same shade it had been before, but darker in the clouds and stormlight.

Yeah, okay, I can be a pervert and a bit of a romantic sap. It was lust, plain and simple. The kid looked fuckable. You don't even know, remember?

"It's raining," he said.

"_Really_?"

"Yeah, really." He was less than a foot away. I could've just leaned right over, claimed I was falling or something equally stupid and craptastic-- just fallen right over and on top of him. He was staring right at me, for crying out loud, the minor with the attitude and the expression that said he wanted it, even if he didn't damn well know it. And he stepped aside, waiting for me to follow. To follow him through the goddamn window.

Once I got my eyes off the back of Roxas'... head, I could take in the room itself. First impression? Movie posters. Everywhere. You would not _believe_ this kid's collection of posters, for crying out loud. He had the classics-- The Birds, Psycho, From Russia With Love, North by Northwest, even Gone With The Wind, for crying out loud. But more than that, he had these contemporary ones, too. Broken Flowers, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Kill Bill, Pulp Fiction. The kid had it all. ...Which was surprising, because really, he didn't strike me as the kinda kid who would appreciate a Quentin Tarantino jumpsuit bloodfest. But hell, what did I know anyway?

But because I couldn't keep my big mouth shut, I just had to pop the question.

"Uma Thurman? You like 'em old, huh?"

"She's not old. Have you seen the cinematography in that movie? The colors..."

Okay, I don't know about the rest of the world, but I wasn't exactly paying attention to the camera art when there was a serious amount of ass-kicking going down up on the screen. But he trailed off, tossed me a towel that had been lying on his bed, then made himself at home at the chair by his desk. Posters aside, the room was simple enough. Bed, bookshelf, TV in the corner beside the desk, the sleeping computer. But the towel already pointed out the fact that Roxas had something planned. On a regular basis, people don't leave fresh towels lying in wait on their bed.

While I was drying off my hair, I couldn't help but have another look around. Just walking a little, looking a little. A stack of CDs, some of the artists I knew and some of them I didn't. Roxas didn't seem to mind, he just sat back and looked. I just leaned down and looked at his music. Probably safer than looking at him directly, anyway.

"Rufus Wainwright?"

Even if I wasn't looking, I could still hear the smile on Roxas' voice. "Have you _heard_ that guy sing?"

"Yeah. He's also the most flamingly queer male to ever get his eyebrows waxed."

"...I like his eyebrows."

"So do I." Insert awkward silence here. "Sooo." And in fishing for something to say, I just had to pull up the _sore_ topic. Butterfingers me. "Med school kid, huh?"

"Better than being a club kid." That was when I made the mistake of looking up. I caught the smirk, that knowing something that made Roxas seem older than me, even though he sure as hell wasn't built like it. Maybe it was the Atomic Red hair that gave it away. I didn't smell like drugs-- I'd given them up a hell of a long time ago. But still, I was impressed that he knew what he was talking about.

"You can tell?" I asked.

"Well, you _do_ have the look of a raver."

"Your old man doesn't seem to think so."

Roxas' face twitched a little at that, his mouth curled into a pouty frown. I was shocked at how easy it was for this kid to change emotions with the flip of a switch-- such a damn expressive face-- voice, even, sad when he said it, not really bitter when he admitted it-- "He's an idiot." Just a sorry statement of fact.

"Oh. Well. That's lovely." I could tell he was getting bummed really fast about it, so I tried to lighten the mood. Always trying to lighten the mood. "Do you at least _like_ medicine... things? I mean. Hell, is it any fun dissecting crap? You get to do that, right? Like, cut open pigs and cats and stuff?"

"Oh yeah. It's about as much fun as pissing in the wind." He leaned back in the chair and I could see a gap between the shirttail and the waistband of his pants-- the skin there, small patch that it was. I got to wondering when I turned into such a horny bastard, but I covered it up, moved right along. If you keep up in conversation, people can't tell the difference.

"You're a goddamn poet, kid."

"Poet, maybe. Kid, no."

"And how old _are_ you, anyway?"

"Eighteen in December."

"Winter mild."

"And?"

"You're still a kid."

"Yeah, and you're _really_ twenty-one."

"Gimme a month and a half and I'll make it the truth."

"Summer child?"

"Your point?"

"No point."

I sat on the edge of his bed and I couldn't help it-- I was fidgety. One of us had to be and it didn't look like it was going to be him-- just sitting there at his desk chair, moved again, bent over, elbows on his knees, all cool, collected, and calm as anything you've never seen before. I had to talk, had to keep covering it up. "So if you don't want to go be a big bad doctor, what the hell do you want to do anyway, huh?" I laughed-- it sounded stressed-- I didn't know what the hell was wrong with me. "Be an actor or something?"

"No way. I'd suck at acting." Roxas smiled, hesitated for all of half a second, then said, "But I do want to work in the movies."

"What, producing?"

"No. _Directing_." And then, just as he said it, I swear to God, he got that look in his goddamn eyes. You know the one. They use it in all those real shitty teen chick flicks. The One True Love Look. The Simpering Female Dream and Glory Look. God, it was something. Just as he said that one freaking word.

_Directing_.

"I want it so bad. I wanna make people cry their fucking eyes out, I wanna make them laugh until they piss themselves, think until they're so fucking tired of thinking that it's all they can do to walk out the door without reading deep into it." He was out of his chair then, he was totally wild-- to hell with self-control, he was pacing the room like a damn madman. And when he turned around his smile was a grin. "It's the next best thing to mind control."

"Well, I must say, you seem to be quite the controlling little bastard there."

"You never know."

"So what's stopping you?"

"Hello? Does the word med school mean anything to you?"

"Thaaat's two words."

"Screw off."

I stood up again, talking as I went, towel hung around my shoulders, walking around this kid's room, gloves still on, boots still one, probably tracking rainwater everywhere. Still trying to take it all in, still trying not to look at him. I was beginning to think this entire thing was just one big bad idea. "Look," I said, "your dad's got a good run of it. He had his time in the spotlight of wealth and glory and now he's retired, right? Key word there. _ Retired_. He's not in the business anymore and he shouldn't feel compelled to stick you into it in his place. I mean, don't take this the wrong way or anything, but how the hell did your dad become a surgeon in the first place?"

"I honestly don't know."

Roxas sat down again, his Directing High fading fast. I was looking for something, _anything_ to get me going on something I could talk about. And then I found it. Sitting right there on his dresser, innocent and condemning at the very same time. "Chapstick?"

"Everyone's lips get chapped," he said quickly. Oh, but I'd gotten it. Roxas tensed when he said it.

"A girly boy-- I see." Finally with the upper hand, I had to grin, smirk, rub it in his face and see if it was true. "Rufus, eyebrows and Burt's Bees. The ever-living poet as the bodaceous blonde bottom."

"Who said I was a bottom?" Priceless! I couldn't believe it and it was a laugh if I ever saw one-- that is, if the poor kid hadn't looked about ready to melt into his chair and die right then and there. His mouth hung open for a few moments and he made a few noises that didn't make much sense. The only thing I could really get out of it was a stuttered "I mean." But even then, he didn't get very far.

Laughing on the inside-- laughing my _ass_ off on the inside, I just had to say it. For some weird reason I wanted to rip apart his calmness and bring him right down to by level so I could climb up. "Well just _look_ at you, kid," I remember telling him. "You couldn't hold your own in a fight against a three year old, let alone a verbal one-on-one with your old man. Spine. Less. Am I right or am I right?" And then to ease the burn, I gave him this little pat on the back, nothing smacking like his old man, but just friendly. I'm a friendly person, I swear. "There's nothing wrong with being a bit of pansy. Someone's gotta fill the role."

"So what the hell are _you_ then, huh?" Of course I knew what he meant, but he was too flustered by then to get it across well enough.

"**_I_ **am a delightfully open-minded youth existing in the post-modern sleaze that is today's America."

Roxas just stared for a moment like it was the most profound thing he'd heard in his entire sad little life. Then he let out this half-laugh, gave this half-smile. Nothing really total right then-- you could tell he was still jittered. "You're full of shit." He was quiet for a minute, then hesitantly spoke up again. "Are you?"

"Am I full of shit? Well, it's been debated. Heated topic of conversation, that."

"No, I meant..."

"And look where our polite and refined conversation has turned to." I almost felt bad for doing it to the poor guy-- he was flaming red and humiliated to hell and back sitting right there in his desk chair. "Do I bang guys? It depends."

"Oh."

"And how about you, with your chapstick and your Rufus and your well-groomed eyebrows?"

"I dunno."

"Mm_hm_."

"I _don't_ know," he insisted.

"So you're a virgin."

"I never said that."

"No shame in it kid. Well, not _really_, you know."

"I never _said_ I was a virgin."

But I wanted to hear this one because I knew he was telling the truth. I sat down on his bed again, right across from him in his desk chair and his embarrassment and his look that asked me not to make him spill the gory details. But I wanted to hear them anyway. Come to think of it, there were an awful lot of things I wanted to do right at that particular moment of time, but finding out about Roxas' troubled sex life was most definitely the most innocent option. I figured he'd thank me later.

"So who'd you bone?"

"A girl."

"And?"

"It was... traumatic." Roxas groaned-- yeah, okay, I had to try and not be turned on by it-- and buried his face in his hands. "Why am I even_ telling_ you this crap?"

"It's easier to spill your goddamn life story to a total stranger."

"Really?"

"I dunno." I laughed, he just made another noise that sounded like I was killing him slowly. But I had to press the issue because pressing the issue meant I wasn't raping the kid in his desk chair, so that was that. "So, traumatic sex, huh?"

"It didn't really, uh..."

"Get you off?"

"_God_, would you shut _up_?" Damn, but I sure could pick 'em.

"Aww, poor lil blondie bear just couldn't get some on top. What'd I tell ya? It's fixable, yanno." Roxas had stood up and I just kept talking because in my head, I figured that he was probably coming closer. Or if not actually moving, than considering moving. In reality, he was just bending over to tie his shoelace, but he stopped halfway when he actually processed what I'd said. And that's when _I_ actually processed what I'd said and realized what an ass I was making myself-- what a damn deep hole I was digging myself.

"Huh?" was all he could say.

"Not all sex is traumatic. Not all sex is without orgasm." Yep, the idiotic words just wouldn't stop coming. Completely not my fault. "Trust me."

I guess there was something about those last two words, maybe. Maybe something about everything I had just said overall. Who knows. Whatever it was, Roxas stood back up fully, his shoelace still untied, his head tilted to one side just slightly more than the other. It was obvious he was trying to figure something out, something that should've been _more_ than obvious in itself by that point.

And I wasn't imagining it by then because I _saw_ his feet move. He was closer. He was closing the gap and, really, there was nothing I could do about it, not even if I'd wanted to. Or so I told myself at the time.

So you know how you're about to kiss someone and they get that simpering little look in their eye? That 'I know it's coming' look? They're so goddamn expectant and they just know you're a sucker enough to make the moves on them. Yeah. Well. Roxas didn't... get that look. I waited for it. Waited until it was damn awkward, I waited. The room was so damn silent I got to wondering if he'd just died on me right there, but I could hear him breathing and there wasn't much else. Then there was thunder. There was more rain.

And I pretty much said screw it and went in anyway. Yep. Pure-hearted me, grabbing him by the belt-loops and pulling him right down on top of me.

It took the kid a minute-- he hadn't been expecting it, I guess-- but he knew what he was doing. I couldn't tell if I was amused as all hell or kinda disappointed that he _wasn't_ a clumsy-ass kisser, but either way I wasn't exactly complaining or anything. He sighed, he smiled, he squirmed around until he was comfortable, really, until he had his fingers all buried in my hair, one thumb beneath my ear and I swear to God he could feel my pulse. You know that vein you have, right beneath your jaw, right beneath your ear. He was completely in control-- not of the whole contact-kiss-thing itself, but of _him_self. You just _knew_ that _he_ knew exactly what he was doing and how to do it.

In retrospect, I should've started having my doubts about the kid's history right about then. But no one actually bothers to think about crap like that when you've got an adorable guy suddenly in your lap, driving you backwards onto his damn bed. It wasn't like he was demanding or anything. Just smooth. Just controlled, like I said. When I shoved him off, rolled him over, made him understand what a submissive little pansy he really was, he took it. When I moved from his mouth to his neck in a less-than-exactly-gentle way, he took it. He sighed again, breathed again, and moved to take off his own shirt.

It was something pleasantly different, something that I sure as hell wasn't used to. I was used to having to wrestle people out of their clothes-- and that gets embarrassing because if they've got fifty million buttons or zippers or clips or pins, they're left staring at you wondering just what in the hell is taking so long and you feel like a complete idiot fumbling with all their damn clothing. But not Roxas. Thank God not Roxas. He took care of it himself-- smiled, even, as he did it.

I didn't know how far I was taking it, I didn't know how far he was willing to take it. But it was a good feeling-- in a weird way-- to see Roxas the way I'd seen him the first time. Eyes half closed and body half clothed. There was no better way.

Fate being what it was, that was when the front door opened downstairs and Roxas pushed me off him with this crazy shove that nearly sent me flying into the goddamn wall. Who the hell would've guessed a wimpy little kid like that could really do that?

"Roxas!" It was the old man. He sounded pissed. I didn't hear his giggly wife and I didn't have a clue what had happened.

"My dad'll flip."

"I figured."

And just like that we were off the bed, Roxas pulling his shirt back on, me pulling the towel off my shoulder and getting back to the window and ladder I knew so damn well. It felt more and more like a bad teeny bopper movie with every second and the though made me want to puke a little. Just a little though. More than anything I really just wanted for Roxas' dad to go back to wherever he'd come from so we could go back to whatever it was we were doing, wherever it was we were going.

"Coming!" Roxas called out the door. He turned back to me-- he looked worried, thoughtful, and stressed-- a big ball of nerves all rolled into this electrical fury of something that needed to do something. "_Hurry_."

I was halfway out the window. "I'm workin' on it!"

He was halfway up the stairs. "Roxas, you in there?"

Roxas was panicking and he didn't panic too well. "Uh, y-yeah, one sex!" God, this kid had class. "**Sec**, I mean, _sec_, one _second_, please!" He looked back and me, moved halfway across the room and stood there, not knowing whether to close the gap or run back towards the door. "Sorry," he said. Talk about awkward.

"S'okay."

"Rox--" He was at the door and Roxas was at the window and I'd had to drag my ladder over at a weird angle in order to make it out. The way Roxas' window opened, it swung open to the side. It was weird, but quite convenient if you think about it. Sort of like a small door that dropped you off in the middle of space. And that small, convenient door was jarred out of my grasp as Roxas tried to slam it shut and I was left with one foot on the ladder and one in the air, some curse or another right at the tip of my tongue, damn what Roxas' old man had to say about _that_.

"Dad! Uh--"

And that was the last thing I heard before I was struck by lightning.

Now, you already know I didn't die, seeing as I **am** the asshole telling this story and all that crap. Technically, I guess I could be a friggin' angel palling around with some other friggin' angels somewhere and then I could be telling this story, but you know, that's just not the case. The case and the point of the entire matter is that "Dad! Uh," were the last words of my first life. My goddamn perfect and easy-like-you-never-had-it life.

Anyway, it's a bit of pain to have to describe what it was like. You know, being struck by lightning and all. I don't think it really hurt, exactly, and I guess it wasn't anywhere near as bad as it could've been-- just a tiny little electrical splurge, surge, and down you go, you know. According to the docs at the hospital, if it hadn't been for my rubber-soled shoes and the fact that I still had my gloves on, well, I probably would've been rather toasted. So really, if you think about it, me getting it on with Roxas on that one goddamn evening probably would've resulted in a gloveless, bootless death.

Well, I was not a pansy like the little blonde squirt who'd just shoved me out a window and into said near death experience, but I did close my eyes after the strike and the fall and it took me a minute to get them open again. It's a miracle that I didn't break my back with the friggin' ladder landing on top of me. Roxas' pops was hollering something awful from the kid's window and all it took was one look at Roxas to know the kid was probably scarred for life. I almost felt guilty, somehow, which is really complete bullshit because it was entirely his fault in the first place that any of this crap ever happened to begin with.

He'd lured me into his room out of the storm, turned those buggy blue eyes on me and practically jumped me right then and there. Naturally. His fault. Completely and entirely.

But still. The kid looked like he was about to burst into tears and never stop crying for the rest of his years (who's a poet _now_, Roxas?).

I sort of tried to hold up my hand and wave it around a little to let them both know I was okay-- the old guy so he wouldn't have a heart attack hanging out the window and screaming like he was, and Roxas so he wouldn't feel _too_ bad-- but my goddamn arm was dislocated so I had to untangle the other one from under the ladder.

The rest of it gets a little boring. I don't know how long I was on my back, but Roxas and his dad came out of the house, pulled the ladder off me and just stared at me like I was a goddamn corpse or something. His dad started asking questions-- dumb ones, of course-- "How many fingers am I holding up? What's your name? Are you okay? Christ, boy, are you okay?"-- but Roxas just stood and stared. You'd think the kid would've at least apologized for pushing me to my doom, but nope. Not a single frickin' word left his stupid frickin' mouth.

There was a hospital, a lot of noise, a lot of quiet. Something about my old man nagging me, lecturing me, shaking his finger and bitching up a storm. Storm. Haha, how goddamn punny.

So there I was the next day, fast on the road to recovery with a pint of cake batter ice cream and a mixing spoon, minding my own business on the living room sofa. ...Really, it wasn't the living room. It was more like the only room outside of the bedroom and bathroom of my lame apartment, but you know, it worked for me. Right. So the couch. I was there on the couch, like I said, and someone buzzed up to my room and I sort of let it go for a while because I figured I'd let whatever poor sap was down there rethink his plan of action and figure out if he really wanted to speak to me or not. You'd be amazed by how many people get to rethinking like that. Just damn amazed.

But apparently not this guy. The buzzer kept going and going and I just cursed and rolled off the couch.

"Hello." That was me. I'm friendly, remember?

"Axel?" And that... was Roxas.

"JESUS, Roxas? What in the hell are you doing here?"

"Can I come up?"

"Hell no, you can**not** come up! Are you _crazy_?" I had no idea what was going on. He hadn't answered me before, so I decided to play the patient guy and ask again. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I need to come up."

"No, you _don't_. Why. Are. You. Here?"

"My dad kicked me out."

"He WHAT."

"I told him... about..."

"No way. You're shitting me. You've **got** to be shitting me."

"No..."

"No, no-- you're lying. Honestly, next you'll be telling me that Al Gore got _his_ idea for the internet from _you_, for crying out loud." He was serious. I could tell. It was bad news. Can't blame me for trying to lighten the mood a little. But the kid wouldn't buy it. He sighed-- not the happy, sexy little sigh I'd heard the night before, but one of those emo kid sighs, one of those Damn-but-my-life-is-so-over sighs. It was depressing.

"Axel, Al Gore didn't _invent_ the internet."

"I knew you'd say that. ...But... Why the fuck did you tell him, for crying out loud?"

"Can I come up now or what?"

I looked around the apartment. Total hellhole for sure, dirty dishes stacked in the sink and a day-old pizza lying half-eaten on the counter. Old socks, filled laundry baskets, and lord-knows how many soda cans and beer cans and water bottles. ...Well, it was his funeral, not mine. Even though I was the sap who he'd practically-- okay, I'd put that behind me, really. I was just bitter and confused and territorial.

"Fine."

So I let him up. I pulled on some jeans (because some people are prude like that-- who knows) and was just getting a shirt over my head when the knock happened. I hid the ice cream, tossed the spoon in the sink, and threw open the door.

There was Roxas. With a duffel bag on one arm and that blonde haired blue eyed masterpiece of an expression, fit to kill. Or molest. Or something. Hell, I don't even know.

"I can explain," he said. And_ that_... was when I really knew it was bad.

"...Hoo boy. I can't _wait_ to hear this one."

(x) (x) (x)

Bleh, don't kill me. I haven't forgotten any of my other fics. Quoshoopy will be updated in a matter of days and Suburbia right after that. This was originally going to be a oneshot, buuut. Well, you know how it goes. First-person POV is still new for me, but as of now my plan is to have it alternating between Roxas and Axel by chapters, unless I find that Roxas has absolutely no voice going for him! Erm. Right. Rufus Wainwright's 'Rebel Prince' is this fic's song (think 'Wish I Was Your Lover' and 'Angels Would Fall' from WIWYL and OftB, respectively) and the one mentioned in French earlier in the chapter. It's a damn good song and I tell you all to give it a listen!

...Right after, you know, you maybe drop a review. ...If you're feeling kind and generous and beautiful and lovely and marrrvelous. Which I'm sure you are. XD


	2. Sensory Boy

**Marigold**

'Sensory Boy'

x.Roxas.x

My dad wasn't a bad guy.

When he kicked me out, I wasn't exactly... happy. I mean, yeah, okay, so he had really bad taste in women and didn't have a clue what to do with me. Not many people do. ...Have a clue what to do with me, I mean. So when I found myself staring at the front door-- the wrong side of the front door-- it was... well, it kind of hurt. He'd given me my warning when I'd first gotten my ass kicked onto his doorstep. "No more of this fag crap, got it?" I did get it. I tried to get it. But I guess, somewhere along the way, I must have lost it again.

Right... but about Axel...

I told my dad about him because after the ambulance left and things had sort of quieted down, I noticed that Janey was gone. I asked him about it and he just got... angry. Saying something about how she was a conniving little bitch and he never should've listened to her, trusted her--_ anything_ her. I felt sorry for him. And I felt guilty. Guilty because my dad was falling apart and I'd been getting it on with the sider behind his back.

...Everyone was going behind his back. Me. Janey. Mom.

My dad _wasn't_ a bad guy. I couldn't lie to him. I'm not the fucking model son or anything, but I couldn't lie to him.

"Dad... I..."

I told him. Everything. At the time, 'everything' wasn't exactly much of anything. I mean-- so what? I got Axel in the house because it was raining. The reason he got hurt is because he was scrambling out my window after trying to scramble into my pants. Both failed. It didn't amount to anything other than a couple bruises on his end. But my dad needed to know. I don't know why. I can't give any reason aside from what I told you already. I couldn't do that to him.

'But he could kick me out. He could get angry. He could do what Mom did.'

And, in the end, he did.

It all came down to me, him, and the rule he slapped down right then and there-- his ultimatum. "I want you out of this goddamn house in ten minutes. You hear me? Ten minutes."

I got eight and I was out of there. I didn't look back. I didn't want to look back. I didn't feel ashamed, I just felt... I don't know.

Anyway.

I made it to the highway. It was about a half hour walk, not too bad because eight minutes doesn't exactly allow for a whole lot of packing time. I think I had maybe four pairs of shirts, a handful of boxers and socks, and two pairs of pants. Along with my laptop, my camera and my CD player. Those were the important things. The basics. I had them covered. Not too much to carry, not too much to bog me down.

From the highway I bummed a ride off a guy heading into town. It was pretty easy stuff. Ten miles for nothing but a quick hand job. Nothing impossible. Nothing degrading. I don't do that stuff. I just get where I need to go and I pay the tolls along the way, just like any other guy. ...Well, kind of. You follow.

The town wasn't much more than a town-- far from a city, a little below a suburb. Just a nowhere kind of place like Axel always called it. The guy I'd gotten the ride from dropped me off at the gas station and floored it right after. I don't know if he had somewhere to be or if he just got sick and tired of looking at me. Or maybe he just wanted to laugh and point from a safe distance when the sky opened up a minute later and started pouring rain down on stupid little me.

Yeah, don't know, don't care. Didn't then, never will. I wasn't even sure what I was doing there. I mean, it'd made sense to me back at my dad's place, to go hunt down the fucker who'd screwed up my life for once and for all. Who'd shot down my second chance with a few--

Yeah, well, it made sense at one point. But thinking back on it now, I just remember standing there outside the gas station, me and my duffel and my empty head, no clue as to how I got there, why I got there, and what the heck I was supposed to do next. So what exactly _did _I do next?

I went to a phone booth because it was raining again. And because I'm a smart kind of kid, I didn't think to really bring an umbrella. But if you think about it, if _you_ were kicked out of _your_ house, I doubt you would remember to bring an umbrella either. Or a poncho. I'm getting confused. Or sidetracked. Or both. The point is, I had no umbrella and no poncho, so I stood around inside a smelly, drizzly phone booth with holes rusted through the roof for about two hours.

There was a moldy old phone book in there with me and I tried to find Axel's address, but the thing about phone books is that unless you know the person by their last name as well as their first name, well, then you're kind of a little screwed. People never introduce themselves by both their first and last name anymore. Not on a casual basis, anyway. Meeting your friend's friend, you'd never say something dumb like, "Hey there, I'm Theodore Roosevelt," you'd really say, "Hey there, I'm Theodore. Or Theo. But if you're really friendly, I'll let you call me Teddy."

...See? Last names are insignificant. People should modify phone books.

To make an already disgustingly long story somewhat shorter and less... disgustingly long... I didn't know Axel's last name so the phone book didn't do me any good for the first hour and a half I spent flipping through it. Then I actually got kind of half smart and turned to the local yellow pages to find his dad's roofing and siding clip. Short but sweet-- Kano & Sons' Home Exterior. It was easy after that. Kano, Axel. Number and address. Not surprisingly, the book didn't have him listed as living with anyone else.

I could have called him. I probably should have called him, really, but I didn't want him to hang up on me. Back then I had this phobia of people hanging up on me. It was kind of weird, because I never really talked on the phone with anyone. But on the rare occasion I did, you can can bet I was still afraid of them hanging up. Yeah, okay, it made no sense. Few things do. Regardless of all that, that's why I decided to hoof it over around town and try to hunt down the guy.

By the time I _found_ Axel's apartment, it was dark. The only reason it took so long is because Axel's 'apartment' really _wasn't_ an apartment. It was more like the very top, very remote level of some run-down old house that some old guy had converted into a porno mag and video shop. The guy had rigged up this buzzing device for the upstairs apartment-- something I thought was pretty cool back then, though a little lame. Trying to make the nowhere-town rental system look big-city and official.

Still, the buzzer worked. What more could I honestly ask for? ...Well, for Axel to answer when it buzzed. That would've been good.

I must have stood out there for another hour, hoping he'd wake up. I didn't even know if he was in or not, honestly, seeing as he still could've been at the hospital for all I knew. I don't remember what I was thinking. Maybe it was one big blank. The kind of blank that always comes rolling in after getting one of those really nasty shocks life sometimes likes to knock over your way.

Either way, I eventually gave up and left. Spent the night outside his apartment wadded up in a ball under my duffel bag, under the stairs that led up the side of the house to Axel's apartment. It was kind of pathetic. ...It was kind of stalker-esque of me, I guess. But remember the big blank. Wasn't my fault.

"I can explain."

And that was how I came face to face with Axel the morning after.

"...Hoo boy. I can't wait to hear this one." He looked like hell, to be honest. A nice, slightly hotter than luke-warm kind of hell, but still. I guess behind hit by lightning does that to you. Still, he moved out of the doorway and let me in. I felt sorry for him. He had no idea what was about to hit him dead on in the face.

"Okay, I know this looks bad, but..."

"Fuck _yeah_, it looks bad. I mean... God, why'd you come _here_, for crying out loud? Don't you have friends or something? _Jesus!_"

"I'm not from around here, okay? I just moved in with my dad a month ago." I avoided mentioning the whole Mom-kicking-me-to-the-curb thing. If this was all a first time offense, Axel might take pity on me, but if he knew it was a recurring kind of thing, he probably had every right to laugh me back out his door. At least, that's what I was thinking at the time.

"Oh. Oh, okay, right. Right, right, _right_, Roxas. So you think that just because we had a little make-out session going on behind Daddy's back, that must **in**stantly make us pals, huh?" He was either mad or intent on being a cynical bastard and scaring me away. It could've been both. Thankfully I was too tired to care.

"I never said that." I shifted my duffel bag from one shoulder to the other, trying not to look like I'd spent the past night sleeping on the street with no food and no shower and no blanket. And no poncho or umbrella either, but we won't get into that again. I'd made the effort to stop at a rinky-dink coffee shop before I went to Axel's that morning, so at least I smelled okay. Like coffee beans.

"I never even said you had to like me," I told him.

I dug around in my pocket and pulled out my back-up plan, which I proceeded to stuff in his fist. Don't read that the wrong way. _Please_.

"What the fuck is this?"

"Two hundred and forty-seven dollars. ...And twenty-nine cents." I blew it off like it was no big deal, yeah, I know. I needed him to think it wasn't. I needed him to keep thinking I was some good-for-nothing rich boy who was used to just throwing money around like it was nobody's business. "It would've been two-fifty," I blabbed, "but I got some coffee."

And while he was still gaping at me, I took the liberty of heading on over to his couch and sitting down, hauling my bag into my lap. The couch was a little lumpy, but you know, after a night on the streets-- even just one night-- any couch looks like heaven. I unzipped my bag and pretended I was looking for something, just to avoid looking at Axel looking at _me_, instead.

When he finally said something, he started flapping his arms around like an idiot and practically ran over to the sofa, still kind of gaping, still kind of shocked, but more confused than anything. I could've done that better, I know. The whole explaining and bargaining for a room thing.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, just-- wait a minute, would ya?"

"Gimme a day-- two tops. I'll be out before you know it. I won't bother you. I won't even talk to you, okay?"

"What the hell do you expect is gonna happen to you in two freaking days?"

"The hotel is booked until then." Did I mention I'd tried the hotel before I went to Axel's? No? Yeah. Well. That's where Mr. Roosevelt came from.

"You're gonna stay in a fuckin' _hotel_?"

"The Roosevelt."

"No _duh_. There's only one goddamn hotel in this entire shithole." He started rubbing his left temple like something was stabbing him in the head. Really hard. "You gotta be kidding me."

"The money's yours, okay?" I tried to remind him about the money. Usually it pacifies people. Axel just sort of stared some more and stopped rubbing his temple. Who knows, maybe the money really _did_ work.

"You're serious."

"Did I look like I was joking?"

"You're fucking _serious_." He really started to get angry then, though I didn't understand why. It's not like I was really asking him to put himself out of his way or anything. I mean... over a hundred bucks a day just to let me sit on his couch? I kind of thought I was being generous. But he just crossed his arms and lit into me on the spot-- "How do you expect to pay for the hotel, huh? Did you _think_ about that?"

"I have plenty of money," I said.

"What if your old man terminates your bank account? You're a _minor_, kid. Got it? A minor. You have no power-- no rights-- no nothing. Your dad can fuck you over before you can even blink."

"He won't."

"Yeah. Right. And I suppose he just kicked you out for the hell of it. 'Later, Rox! Go have fun ma_tu_ring. Because it's a big _world_ out there and it's _good_ for you to get life experience on your fucking _own_.'"

"He's not _trying_ to destroy my life, okay? ...He just doesn't want anything to do with it."

I didn't want to snap at Axel. I was tired, I was sore, and I was a little smelly. I smelled as bad as that phone book back in that phone booth with the rust and the rain and the last names. Really, I just wanted to roll over and sleep on Axel's couch. Maybe use his shower. At that particular moment in time, that's really all I wanted from the guy. Really.

Whether he got that or not, I'll probably never know. But whatever it was, he just stood there for another minute and I was just sitting there, looking at my hands and fiddling with the zipper of my bag. And he was just standing there, doing nothing. And I was just sitting there... doing the same thing...

"Two nights. That's it," he finally said. "But _don't_ expect me to fucking babysit you, got it?"

"Yeah, I got it."

"And I'm going out tonight."

"Okay."

"You can't have anyone in here. You can't answer the phone. You can't eat my food."

"Okay."

"You can't use my refrigerator, you can't order take-out, you can't touch my stuff."

"Okay."

"You can't go in my room. You can't open my windows. You can't kill yourself."

Well,_ that_ was a new one. "Wait. ..._What?_"

"Look, the last thing I need is for some emo asswipe of a teenager to wind up dead in my goddamn living room, for God's sake."

"...Oh."

"And_ look_. We're not friends, got it? _But." _He kind of tapped his foot against the floor for a few seconds, scowling and uncrossing his arms before scowling even more and crossing them the other way. "Your cell phone work?"

"Yeah."

"For _now_." He still didn't believe me when I told him my dad wasn't out to tear me to pieces. I could've called him on it-- maybe I should've-- but I didn't. I just watched him stick his hand out expectantly and wait for it. "Gimme the number."

"I thought we weren't--"

"We're _not_. We're _nothing_. It's not like I _trus_t you. But I still have plans. I'll be calling to check up on your sorry ass and make sure you haven't blown up my place." He looked down at the duffel bag in my lap, where I was digging out my cell phone and trying not to look like a complete moron. "...That's all you've got?"

"I told you. I have plenty of money." He had a point though. There wasn't really much in the bag. And when he figured out that most of the space was taken up by my film stuff...

"What the-- that bag's not even fucking-- what **is** that crap?"

"...Expensive."

"No shit. You mean to tell me that you grab this stuff instead of food? Water? Blankets? Uh, hello? Do these things mean nothing to you?"

"I have a plan, okay?" Out came the cell phone and I frantically jabbed some buttons to try and figure out what my own number was. ...Because I don't exactly call myself very often. Or give my number to people very often. Really the whole process was pretty much new and refreshing. Like a good quality fabric softener-- giving your number to strange new people who tried to molest you in your bedroom.

Sweet.

"What, you're going to sell your shit to some techie geekwad like you?" Axel pressed.

"No." I looked around for a pen and dug around in my pocket. Between the leaky ball-point on Axel's end table and the crumpled receipt from that morning's coffee, I had it made. Down went the number copied out of my phone-- "There are contests. With prize money. I have a plan, okay?" I told him all the while.

"Look kid. The movie business is glamour-- I'll give you that. But no one's honestly successful there. You're fucking yourself over."

"Maybe." I shoved the receipt into his hand and met his gaze dead on. If you do that, sometimes people think you're hot shit. Or they think that you think that you're hot shit. Either way, it's a confidence thing.

After a second or so of that, Axel just crammed the paper in his own pocket and stalked off back towards the kitchen.

"Rude little prick" was the last thing I heard him say to me that day. He spent the rest of it either in his room or dead silent moving around the tiny makeshift apartment. I just drifted in and out of sleep on his couch and booted up my laptop after a while, digging through some old tape clips and trying to get inspired.

You know that feeling you get when you _know_ you should be doing something-- something really great and mind-blowing-- but you can't think of what it should be? It's like you know you have the ability to operate this really powerful something-or-other machinery that is you, but there's no fuel to get you and your skills up and running. In fact, you're just running on empty.

Well it was that feeling all over. It had been all summer, but I needed to get running right then more than ever. I hadn't been lying when I'd told Axel there were contests with cash prizes. I figured I could enter a few, maybe even win, maybe even get some attention in the right place. Get somewhere that didn't leave me old and stupid and independently wealthy with nothing to do but spend, spend, spend.

I played clips and reels and tracks and playlists and tried to think of something. Even just pictures to match the words. But nothing came. I spent hours just sitting there, staring at my screen, waiting for something to hit.

Axel left at about eight-- no goodbye, no nothing. Maybe he was a little sore that I wasn't as dependent on him as he might have thought, because I felt him staring at me just before I heard the door slam.

Anyway, I went down the street to the corner deli and had a sandwich because my stomach didn't like not being fed all day. A cup of coffee and a ham sandwich in 24 hours doesn't exactly constitute a good diet or anything, but I told myself it was no big deal, that I hadn't exactly done anything all day anyway. When I got back to Axel's, I didn't really have it in me to spend another hour staring at my computer and thinking about what a brain-dead pig I was.

So. What did I do? Well, I stood there for a few good solid minutes, just inside the doorway. Then I took off my shoes, biding my time. ...And I started cleaning. I washed the dishes, the countertop, the cabinet doors, the windows, the door-frames. Fingerprints, grease stains, dust smudges. Paper towel after paper towel... I threw away the dead pizza (because letting Axel eat it at that point would've meant letting Axel commit suicide), scrubbed inside the microwave oven, took out the trash, scrubbed the toilet and the bathtub and the bath tiles, vacuumed the floor and the sofa and the armchair...

In total, it took about four hours. I swung by the all-night convenience store after the last trash bag was out and I picked up another roll of paper towels and a box of granola bars. No sir. Nothing like living the high life.

At any rate, after a shower I was back on the couch feeling much better than before, but still without a single idea to move my stupid brain forward.

I didn't look up from my computer when Axel came back. Nah, I kind of made like I was too busy. Not in a rude way or anything. I had my headphones on-- these massive black things. These really damn expensive ones my dad sprung for on my last birthday. You know the ones. They block out every outside sound so it's just you, your ears, and the noise you want to be hearing. But you know how when you cut off one sense, your other senses increase? Yeah. Well. I don't know if it was that or just-- what. But I could smell Axel and every drink he'd downed the entire night.

Still, he seemed remarkably... stable. Not sober, really. Stable. Difference. I could feel him staring at me. Kind of glaring at me. I tugged my headphones down around my shoulders and kind of hoped he wasn't a killer. Kind of hoped he wasn't so drunk.

"What the fuck happened here?" He sort of narrowed his eyes and looked around his apartment. You could tell half of his brain (the not-so-drunk half) was thinking he'd gone and waltzed into the wrong damn place.

"I didn't want to wind up dead on your living room floor," I said. I curled my hands tighter around my headphones-- hoped he didn't notice while he just stared stupidly at me. "You live in a stye. You should be dead by now."

He just sort of snorted and ignored me, walking over to the sink and grinning like a lunatic. I couldn't exactly figure out why he was smiling so much, but then again, if he was as tipsy as he smelled, I shouldn't really have been all that surprised. I watched him pull himself up onto the counter, take one of the clean (thanks to me) glasses from the counter and fill it. He downed the glass, filled it again, and repeated this process three more times. After that, he went to the bathroom, ran a shower, and then wandered into the blackness of his bedroom.

Never turned on a light. Never spoke another word to me. In a way, I was kind of grateful. But in a way, I was also kind of put off. You know, wondering if he had ever really been all that interested in the first place. Wondering what the hell had drove me as far as I'd gone with that guy. To think I'd thrown away my easy life with my dad all for a loser drunk who didn't give me the time of day. Yeah. That stuff belongs on Lifetime. Not in my story.

But I didn't have much time to think about it. Between pulling clips and mixing sounds without a point or an end in sight, an hour flew by and... Axel was back. Sans socks, sans drunken stupor, and sans... shirt.

He wandered into the open, looked at me for a minute, and then went over to his fridge and pulled out another damn beer.

I don't really know if he was trying to test me or what. But Axel walking around shirtless at three in the fucking morning was-- yeah. He was skinny-- not slender-- skinny. Built though-- muscled out just a little, but still. Skinny, skinny. Not geek-boy skinny. Pale-skinny, red-head-skinny. Wired-skinny, recovering-drug-head-skinny. Fucking-gorgeous-skinny.

I think I drooled a little.

And if I did, I think he kind of saw.

"Like what you see, Rox-as?" He grinned around his bottle before he put it to his lips and took one long, smooth drink. I thought to wonder as to why exactly he didn't have a beer belly, but the thought died. Maybe God smiled on the little miscreants (like Axel) and took pity on the real fucked up ones (like Axel) and bent the rules to make them goddamn beautiful (like Axel), beer or no.

Anyway, in case the babbling wasn't really getting it across, I couldn't exactly say anything in response to that. I'm pretty sure I just stared like a moron. I'm pretty sure I was wishing I'd had my headphones on so I couldn't hear him. But there he was, coming closer...

"Pretty horny at three a.m., aren't we? And aren't we just a regular Albert Hitchcock with our classy little camera?" He still had his drink in one hand, but the other-- it was on my camera. On my lap. He was moving his hand across my camera on my lap. Brushing his knuckles over it, the back of his hand. Good God, he was feeling up my camera. Which was... only about four inches away from-- well--

I could only say one thing.

"It's Alfred."

"...What?"

"It's Alfred Hitchcock. Not Albert."

He blinked and his hand stopped moving. Then before I could decide if he was high or crazy or-- hell, who knows, both-- he threw his head back and just laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd never heard before. "Fuck," he went. "Ah, fuck. Leave it to me to forget the bastard's goddamn _name_."

The next night was more of the same. Axel said he had a friend in town-- they were throwing some never-ending party from hell and since he hadn't seen them in so long, he swung by night after night. He never seemed happy when he came back thought. Those first two nights he was just tired. Just sated and steeping in his own mix of blood, water, and cheap beer. He got an angry phone call from his dad-- about me, I guess. Word travels.

"No, Dad. ...No. Look, I said it wasn't fucking _like_ th-- no. _No_. Yeah. Okay. I'm sor-- I know. Alright? Look, I said I was sor-- **NO**, dammit!"

He went out after that, too. Five in the evening and he came back and hour later. Not drunk, just angry. He stormed around his apartment and slammed some cupboards, broke a plate, dropped some silverware. I had my headphones on crooked and made like he wouldn't notice-- hell, made like **I** wouldn't notice. He just stood there by the counter, back to me, hands on the rim of the sink, not moving, hardly fucking breathing. Apparently we'd screwed over each other's lives. It was a mutual thing.

...Mutual.

So why did I feel so guilty?

As if it couldn't have really gotten any worse. I called up the hotel on the morning after the second night. Axel was still asleep, but I wanted to get all of it squared away before he got up. I didn't want to put him out of his way anymore. I wanted to give him his couch back. I wanted space and I knew he wanted his. But more than anything, I just felt... bad.

And it only got worse when I actually spoke to the lady behind the desk at the dead-end hotel.

"No, listen. You told me you'd have a room in two days. That was _two days_ ago."

"I'm sorry sir, but we're currently booked solid and--"

"You _told_ me that two _days_ ago."

"I can arrange a room for you in two weeks, sir, but any sooner than that is impossible, I'm afraid."

"Two **weeks**?"

"Well, it is nearing the peak of the tourist season, sir. Mid-August we have many visitors in town in order to--"

"Look, I don't care. Is there a manager I can speak to or something?"

"I am the manager."

"Yeah, well... well... Your service fucking sucks!" After that I flipped the phone shut and tried to smother the desire to punch something. "Jesus."

"Problem?" Naturally, Axel was awake then and leaning just inside the frame of his bedroom door. I could just make out the room behind him-- dark as anything and just as much of a dump as the rest of his apartment had been before I showed up.

"No," I said.

"Didn't sound like it." I didn't say anything to that, but Axel wasn't buying it. Maybe he wasn't buying enough shirts, either, because he still wasn't wearing one, that cocky bastard. He just strolled right on over and plopped down on the couch beside me, swinging one arm around on the back of the sofa. Honestly, I had no idea why he was suddenly being so friendly. Maybe he felt like a jerk for... well, being such a jerk the past two nights. Or maybe he was just finally realizing how much he'd messed up my young, relatively-innocent life.

Either way, that didn't stop him from making more of an asshole out of himself.

"Oh now don't we just look like a constipated little dumbfuck. Do tell Mumma Axel what's wrong, lumpkins," he crooned.

"Don't lumpkin me."

"I'll lumpkin you if I fuckin' wanna lumpkin you. Now what the hell was you cussing out the hotel lady all about?"

"Look, I can take care of it, okay?"

"Do I look like I believe that? No."

I sighed. I let us both be silent for a minute, but I could tell Axel wouldn't just let it drop like that. So I told him. "They're booked. Still."

"You said you'd have a place in two days."

"I know, Axel."

He rolled his eyes and got up from the sofa, snorted a little and made me feel ten years younger than I really was. Seeing as I wasn't even all that old to begin with, it was actually kind of a big deal. "This is why I don't believe you," I remember him saying. "You really can't take care of yourself. See? Crap like this. You can't even get a_ single_ goddamn hotel--"

"I _know_, Axel, okay? Get off my back about it, already!" I looked back down at my hands again, where my headphones had magically appeared and were then being squeezed to death by my stupid vengeful hands. "...Please. Just forget about it."

He sighed and rubbed his neck for a minute, looking at me and probably trying to figure out if I was about to burst into tears on the spot. I wasn't. I was just having a bad day. Bad week. Bad month. Whatever. But he smiled a little then-- not exactly a sweet smile, but then again, I think it probably would've been really weird if Axel had given me a sweet smile at that particular moment in time. No, this one was just a smile that told me to suck it up and get over it.

"Listen, if you need to hang around for a couple more days until you get shit sorted out..."

"Thanks, but I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity, for crying out loud. Shocker it may be, but I kinda _like_ being able to walk around my own dump, you follow?" And said smile stretched into a nasty little grin as he said, "I don't mind having another day's worth of maid service."

"..._Maid?_"

"While you're at it, grab a uniform. Something little and lacy."

"You're a fucking pervert."

"I want fishnets and high heels. With little ankle straps." His cell phone started going off in his pocket then, some fast-paced jingle that was annoying as all hell. He just kept talking, digging it out of his pocket reeeally slowly... "A corset. Something black and silky underneath it all."

"Ugh!"

"And **loud**, like that. Can you go any louder?"

"UGH!" His cell phone was still ringing. Thank God.

"Mm, just like that, Roxas." Axel flipped open the phone and held it to his ear, never missing a beat with his answer. "Yeah, Larx? Huh? Oh. What am I doing? Kid named Roxas. Why?" Smirking, Axel looked up from the phone at me. "Roxas, Larxene doesn't believe me. Whaddya say?" ...And proceeded to mock the hell out of me by going all falsetto and practically screaming into his stupid cell phone... "Ohhh, _Axel_... _Fuck!_ Please... God, **harder**, damn you!"

"...I don't sound like that."

Completely ignoring me, Axel just jabbed on into the phone-- "Ye-ah, bitch. Take that. Uh huh. I know. Yeah, sexy me, sexy me. Kiss it, baby. Later."

But I had heard Larxene laughing her ass off on the other end and Axel was still grinning like an idiot, so whether I sounded like that or not wasn't really the point. The point was that he got a kick out of it and, for some oddball reason, it felt kind of good. To know that I indirectly gave Axel and his girl from Italy fifteen seconds of laughter.

"Hey, you had dinner yet?" Axel asked me.

"Not yet."

"Want Chinese?"

"Um... o-okay. Sure."

Overlooking the fact that I stuttered like a moron at the complete wrong time, maybe that was the turning point. Me and Axel and two little cartons of Chinese. Maybe _that_ was the turning point. Or maybe it was the fact that the guy who delivered it only gave us one fortune cookie.

"You can have it," I remember telling him.

"Nah, here, just grab that side." He took the other side and ripped the thing clean in to. The little scrap of paper fell out on the coffee table and waved it around a second before actually reading it-- "See? I can be a real nice little bastard when I want to. Ain't that right Roxas?"

But the paper was blank. Axel was annoyed at first, but we laughed it off. Threw it away. Vowed never to order from that stupid Chinese place ever again. ...It was... nice.

But I kinda of wish I'd kept that fortune now. Even if it wasn't really a fortune. Even it was just empty.

x x x

So it was really that easy. For two more days, my life was just that simple. I started sneaking into Axel's fridge-- not to steal his food, but to actually stock the thing in the first place. All he really had was old, old leftovers, beer, baking soda, and a dead lemon. ...Very strange. But I eventually smuggled in some jelly, mustard, sausage, cheese, bacon, orange juice-- you know, healthy things. Things that I sort of hoped would make him stay at the apartment more instead of wandering the streets for all three meals and then some.

...It wasn't that I was dying for his attention or anything. But I'm not about to deny it was lonely there at first. He went out, I stayed in. I cleaned, I stared off into space, and I slept. My one meal a day routine didn't leave me hungry, but I could tell I was losing weight and I could tell it was unhealthy. Even though Axel was letting me stay, things were still bad and getting worse...

Up until the fifth night. By then Axel was actually talking to me every once in a while. It was a little confusing at first, I remember... Sort of like:

_"Hey, Roxas."_

_"Huh?"_

_"I said hey."_

_"Oh."_

_"...So, what's up?"_

_"Huh?"_

_"...Are you **okay**?"_

Or my personal favorite...

_"So what the hell do you do while I'm gone, anyway?"_

_"Uh. ...Not much. I go through clips... and stuff."_

_"Huh. Clips. For your big bad movie that will blow the minds of all who watch it?"_

_"Something like that."_

_"You should try making porn."_

_"**What?**"_

_"Hey, at least you'll have a market for it downstairs, right? Hah!"_

But right, the fifth night. There I was, just like always. Spacing out to the same song I'd had on repeat for the past two hours.

_'Where is my master-- the rebel prince...?' _You think it's corny? You can go screw yourself. It's Rufus. Rufus gets points for making a career and still having a name like _Rufus_.

But it was one a.m. when I my phone went off. Just once, one short little beep. A text message. It read:

'Roxas, get your ass over here! 4927 Shoreline Dr.'

Axel, of course. Who else?

But Shoreline Drive. ...Shoreline Drive was back by the stupid lake I'd left in the first place. South end, just on the other side of the lake from my dad's place. It all fit together right then, of course, like some weird puzzle Axel was slowly but surely feeding me the pieces to. It was weird. I could remember sitting out on my dad's dock, watching the lights across the lake and hearing the noise across the water and thinking about all the wild and crazy parties that went on there every once in a while.

I'd been just across from Axel and his buddies all that time and hadn't even known it. It figures.

Well, anyway. I guess normal people probably would have sent a message back. 'Are you crazy?' 'I have no ride.' 'Hell no, fucker.' But at that particular moment in time, I guess I was determined _not_ to be normal people.

I went down to the gas station. I waited around and looked for the next likely looking guy who seemed to be going westbound. Bummed a ride for a make-out session and a blow job in the back of his truck. Obviously the trip got more expensive with every run, but it didn't matter so much because the guy didn't talk to me for the rest of the trip and he was actually courteous to drop me off at the intersection of Scenic and Shoreline. If he hadn't tasted so bad, I probably would've called him a real nice guy.

As it was, by the time I got to 4927 Shoreline Drive, I was feeling kind of... well, bad. I had that sick feeling in my stomach that you sometimes get after swallowing crap like that and I was feeling pretty wasted, worn and none too happy with myself. I knew I was just doing what I had to, but... doing what I had to was starting to feel like more of a drag than it was worth.

Until I actually looked up and saw the house. If you could really call it that.

There were people everywhere, the lights all on and flashing and wild. The sound was down and muffled inside the walls so the neighbors wouldn't hear it, but the mansion lit up like a firework set off in the dead of a winter night. Bad comparison-- yeah, well, I wasn't thinking of ways to describe it. I was just there, taking it in fore a minute, a close up of the scene I'd watched from a distance across the lake for so many nights.

But suddenly... I didn't really know if I wanted to go in. It looked packed. I didn't know if I could fit. Everyone in there was definitely older than me-- no doubt about that. But at the same time, Axel was in there somewhere and he'd wanted me to come.

...Of course, Axel was probably drunk. Did he really want me to come? Maybe he'd sent the message to the wrong number...

"You Roxas?"

I looked up in time to see this girl staring at me from the doorway about five yards off. She was wearing a tiny little red dress and only had one shoe on, but I thought she looked downright amazing with her short blonde hair all spiked and done-up like it was. That's all I can remember of my first impression of her. ...Other than that she was loud, because she shouted again-- "HEY! KID! You're Roxas, right?"

"Y-Yeah."

"Well get _in_ here, for crying out loud!" She was Larxene, she told me. Axel's friend, she told me. Just in from Italy and staying with some friends until the end of the week-- she must have been the 'friend in town' Axel had mentioned. And the way she shoved her way through the crowd and didn't take shit from anyone, I couldn't even bring myself to doubt her for half a second, for fear of her reading minds and roasting my scrawny ass on the spot for even thinking to question her or her origin. She was... scary.

"Out of the way, fucktard! And if you touch me again, I pound your skull in. Move it, Lex. _Move_. I said **move**, okay? Take him somewhere else."

There were speakers in every room, people in every room. They danced, they laughed, they talked, they argued, like a store full of wind-up dolls sprung full and ready to roll with every action any kid could possibly think of. ...And then a few more actions that no kid in their right mind could possibly think of.

Privacy didn't exist. Common sense was overrated. There was no such thing as an indoor voice.

I knew why Axel came here. Why he wanted to be with these people.

...But... hadn't he said he was just going because some friends were in town? That meant Larxene, right? Definitely not... **all **these people.

"Yo, Axel. Your boy's here."

He was on a couch, talking loudly, laughing and drinking it up and fitting in flawlessly. Almost flawlessly. Maybe he only stood out to me because he was the only person I knew. Or maybe it was the hair. Who knows. But he looked up right then-- I realized it might have been the green eyes-- and sort of... kind of... grinned. He came over with a cup in his hand and pushed it into mine. I didn't drink, I didn't really say anything. I just wanted to wait it out and figure out what I'd come all the way out there for in the first place.

"You having a good time?" he asked.

"I just got here," I said.

"Minor detail. You having a good time?"

I tried not to be annoyed. Not to be put off again. Not because I didn't want to blow up at him, but just because I didn't know what the hell I wanted from him in the first place. "I don't know anyone here," I remember telling him. "I just got the message on my--" And that was the last logical half-sentence I really got out that night.

When Axel started kissing me, I realized he wasn't exactly just kissing me. He was devouring my entire mouth in some way that, while disturbing, was probably the most sexy thing I'd yet experienced. I felt my back slam against a wall-- any wall-- hard, painful, sharp and quick. The guy was all over me. I remember that much. I had a delayed reaction it took me a while to say something.

"Here?"

"No."

"Where?"

"Out there."

"_Where?_"

People didn't notice us, they were all too busy with themselves and their sex and their drugs and their booze. Some guys on the back porch were stoned to oblivion and still passing a bong between them. Some girls sprawled out back on the lawn, unconscious and dead to the world.

Out on the dock where the speedboat was tied up, he pulled the cover off and pushed me in and under. It smelled new, it smelled like plastic, and there was a tiny cabin in the front past the steering column. It had towels inside, some half-assed kind of carpeting, and that was about it. It was hot-- unbelievably hot-- so I guess Axel saw fit to get rid of his clothes. To get rid of _our_ clothes. It was dark and I couldn't see, but I could smell, taste, touch, and hear.

It smelled like alcohol, like Axel, like salt and sweat and suntan lotion.

It tasted like a plum after you bite into it one day past its _perfect_ day of absolute and unadulterated ripeness.

It felt like someone drove a brand up my ass and left it there. All. Night. Long.

It sounded like someone was killing the both of us in the best way he knew how.

In short, I think he raped me a little. But I don't think I really minded. Because across the lake in a dead old house was my dead old man who had no idea that I was one of those kids across the way in the party house with the boy in the boat in the lake-- caught up in some haze of something that wasn't really quite real.

But somewhere in that haze, I found my Idea.

(x) (x) (x)

Wow. The feedback on this has been totally amazing so far. I'm honestly almost completely speechless. Thank you all so much. I really look forward to hearing what you have to say.

Er. But yeah, I wimped out of an actual lemon scene here. Writing one of those in first-person POV is not something I want to take on just yet. So sorry! XD But now the small and relatively nonexistent plot begins to take form. Fear it.


	3. Return Of The Theme Song

**Marigold**

'Return Of The Theme Song'

x.Axel.x

Right. So let's talk about sex.

Better yet, let's talk about Roxas and sex. Roxas was some good sex. From experience, I have to tell you, drunk sex is rarely-- and I mean really fucking _rarely_-- good, quality sex. It all gets real nasty real quick-- clumsy and complicated-- _"Well where the hell do you want me to put it, already?" _or better yet, _"Oh man... oh man, oh man, why won't it work? Work, dammit, work!"_-- that sort of thing. Maybe it was because Roxas wasn't drunk and his not-drunkness passed onto me. Either way, the whole damn picture that you have to understand here is this:

Drunk sex with Roxas was like drunk sex with no other.

Yeah. Okay. So you get that. You got it down, got it memorized, got it written up tight in the black and white lines of your head. You probably think I'm an asshole, though. Maybe that's written between the goddamn wide-rule elementary-fuckin'-educated lines of your stupid head, too. Yeah, punk. Maybe _that's_ there, too. But go ahead and challenge me, I mean, am I right or am I right? Exactly. Well. I won't deny the fact that I'm assholeish. Because I am. You know. Just a bit. Just a teensy-weensy bit. It's a genetic thing, really-- I just don't know. I just don't know, I swear.

But don't go and make the mistake of thinking I was just out to bang Roxas. There was no corny 'wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am' here. Girly as the kid was and as much of a goddamn pansy as the kid was, the wasn't **that** girly, wasn't **that** much of a pansy. He was just... cool. That kinda kid you look at and you're like-- it's like you find yourself thinking, _'Damn, but I wish I knew **that **kid. How fuckin' awesome would it be to know that kid?'_ Roxas had a something about him that was attractive. Not to say that... Roxas_ himself _wasn't attractive...

...Whoa. Okay. Axel, buddy boy, you are way the fuck ahead of yourself. Backing up. Now then. Right. Right the fuck-er-oo.

We'll begin with the morning after-- progress from there. A five course meal starting with the coffee and ending with the salad and who knows what the hell comes in between. But anyway. The coffee-- the morning-- was one of those goddamn awful picturesque fuck-ups. Singing birds. Gentle waves. Low-sun over high water and a reed or two moving with the passing of turtles. (Just for the record, I think turtles are the ugliest animals of all time and they should all be killed. All of them. And then burned, too, because I imagine that dead turtles are just as ugly as live ones.)

So right. All this cloying perfection and me 'n Roxas in a speedboat cabin all tied up in dirty towels and sleep. I got to witness first-hand that vision of Roxas all caught up in slumberland. You know the one. Way back at the window, how fucking cute I'd figured he must've been when fast asleep. Yeah. Well. Alright, fuckers. He _was _damn cute when he slept.

Even though the rinky-dink cabin compartment was cramped as all hell and just as hot, I still can't really think of anything that was all that _bad_ about waking up where I did that morning. Usually I'm one of those guys plagued by the morning-after-syndrome where I want to beat it as soon as I'm conscious again-- nothing more awkward than waking up beside some guy you banged and discovering that-- _'Holy hell, you are **not** as pretty as I thought you were!' _ Been there. Done that. Best left not repeated.

But see, waking up beside Roxas wasn't exactly like that. And, lying there in the sex-stained-towels and ninety-degree boat-pit, I was thinking back on Roxas in his room taking his shirt off. And I was thinking about how, for some weird, oddball reason, that had struck me as the most appealing thing about Roxas-- his ability to take charge of himself. That way he didn't expect you to do anything for him. And he'd been like that the night before, even. He didn't beg for me to do this, that, or the other to him. He let me do what I wanted and he took care of himself. I guess that doesn't sound like the most romantic thing to you or much of anyone else, but it's something I guess you have to experience in order to really **get**.

Or maybe... it was just more refreshing than it was anything else. Roxas was... _refreshing_. Yeah. That was it.

And as soon as I reached this conclusion, Roxas leaned up on one elbow, still mostly sprawled out along the floor of the cabin. No stretching. No nothing. Bing. Wide awake.

"...Bzuh?"

Well, almost wide awake.

"Mornin', babe." Judging by the 'what-the-fuck' expression on Roxas' face, 'babe' was not something he should be called. Okay. I could deal with that. And I was about to follow it up with some other classy line, some real hooker of a saying that would bring the pretty little blonde down once and for all. You know. Something like, '_So, was it good for you, bay-beeee?'_

Thank God Roxas started talking when he did.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Uhh... Dunno. Maybe ten or so? That's a guess. Why?"

"Shit..."

"Um. _Why?_ You don't exactly have anywhere to be, do you?"

"Nn... I need to... go write this thing."

"...Huh?"

Roxas made a good solid effort of sitting up right then, but he cracked his skull on the low roof of the boat and riiight back down he went. _Thud. _

"Jesus. You okay?"

"...Oh... God..."

"Roxas?"

He was pulling on his clothes then-- didn't even notice when he left a sock behind. In a sick, twisted way, I felt really goddamn cheated out of something. If it wasn't often when I didn't feel like turning and running after a steamy night of sex, why the hell wasn't I allowed to enjoy it when I got it? And **what **the hell did Roxas have to do anyway? He had no home to really go _home_ to. No job. No friends. No nothing. In my book, that meant he should have stayed with me and gone for another round.

Nope. He scooted out the little cabin door and practically rolled head-over-ass onto the dock outside. I followed along behind him, mostly because I didn't exactly have anything better to do and I was still trying to get over the fact that-- for once-- **I **was not the one doing the morning abandonment routine. Boy, it really blows when you're on the receiving end of that number. Damn.

Larxene was out back on her porch, just saying goodbye to a couple kids who I recognized from the night before-- some of the girls laying out on the backyard grass in the middle of the night. She looked up at Roxas as the kid cut around the side yard without so much as a word to her and as soon as the girls had scuttled their little ways on through the back door, the bitch instantly pinned the blame on me. Damn well figures.

"What the hell's wrong with _him_?" she asked. Obviously she meant Roxas. The only other 'he' in the immediate vicinity was some old Asian guy snoring under an oak tree. He was a frequent guest and Larxene's parties, even though no one really knew who he was. We all knew better than to ask.

"Fucked if I know."

"If you _raped_ him--"

"Oh for crying out loud, Larx. Have a _little_ more faith in me, would ya?" And, like I was actually going to prove my goddamn point or something, I called out to Roxas' retreating back-- "Yo, Roxas!"

For a minute, I thought he was going to fucking ignore me or something. He didn't turn around. Didn't really make any motion or anything to let me know he'd heard me. But then he just called over his shoulder, plain and simple as day: "I'll catch up with you later, Axel!"

Larxene sort of laughed. I say 'sort of' because Larxene doesn't really laugh. She kind of cackles. It's a little creepy. And by 'little' I mean it's a whole-fucking-lot of creepy. "Cute kid. Where'd you pick him up?"

"Over there." I jerked my thumb across the lake to where Roxas' old house stood. It wasn't exactly on the same level as Larxene's mammoth of a mansion, but it was a pretty nice joint altogether. Would've looked better if I'd actually been allowed to finish putting the goddamn siding on, but hey. The guy could go live in a trailer for all I cared right then. _Boy_, was I hot. And I don't mean attractive (though I'll bet you anything, I still probably was). I mean fucking pissed.

"...God, you're a type A fuck-up, Axel."

"Love you too, babe."

We exchanged a couple more words like that, she dragged me in for coffee and we insulted and jabbed at each other some more. Larxene didn't talk about Roxas anymore, but you could tell she was just _dying_ to. She always was a bit of a nosy bitch. ...Then again, I was always a bit of a nosy bastard. Probably one of the few reasons we really got on.

Back then, Larxene was fresh out of college. Daughter of some kinda rich parents, she majored in some pansy ass Arts and Ideas thing and ended up being a sex therapist. Not only that, but she also starred in a couple B-movies. You know the kind. "Return of the Killer Soda Biscuit" and "Journey to Dabnia: The Lost Tissue Paper."

She tried to audition for a porno flick, but the guy in charge of the whole deal told her she'd need a boob job if she was really gonna make it far. Larxene told him to go fuck his mother and knocked him flat with one good punch to the nose. ...Ah,_ that_ was my girl. And right about that time, no one really knew where the fuck Larxene was going in life, but I also don't think anyone really _cared_, either. Sad, but true. As long as Larxene was there with her magic money mansion and the occasional blast of a party, her little circle of friends never died out.

I woulda stuck to her with or without the parties, mind you. 'Course I never _said_ that. Dear **lord**, no. Besides, the parties did help a bit. Not so often-- maybe once every four months or so, each time she came back over from some exotic trip to some exotic place. Sometimes she'd tell us about a film she'd been in, sometimes she'd snap a couple shots, let us all have a look at the bizarre patchwork piece of a life she lived. All in all, though, she was-- and still is-- probably one of the best girls I'd ever had the goddamn pleasure of knowing.

It was Larxene who tipped me off about Roxas bumming rides from strange, lecherous old pervs in second-hand rattletraps, making his way up and down the highway like he did. I was still sort of half asleep when she pointed it all out to me, when she asked me how it was that Roxas had gotten there in the first place. How Roxas had gotten around to anywhere he needed to go if he had no car, no friends, and no magic pony on which to ride around town on.

End the morning. I got a call from my dad later that day on my cell telling me, in so many words, that _he'd_ gotten some nasty call from some nasty customer and had taken to firing my nasty queer ass. Larxene and I drove around town for a bit, I dropped in a few places to file a job application or five and we just generally wasted away the hours. I kept thinking I'd see Roxas somewhere out of the corner of my eye, but whenever I spotted some unfortunately short blonde kid, it was never him. If Larxene noticed, she didn't pay much attention to it. She'd always thought I was a little ADD anyway.

In reality, it bothered me not to find Roxas lingering around some corner with nothing to do and nowhere to go. Truth be told, I could be a possessive bastard and I liked for my things to stay where I could see them and dutifully molest them at all hours of the day. This meant my CD cases, cell phone, flashlight, favorite jackets, alarm clock, pencil sharpener, expensive-pansy-ass-cologne, _and_ Roxas all had to be within arm's reach in order for me to be content.

I think it goes without saying. I'd spent the better part of my life in a hazy state of non-contentedness.

Still, I did take it upon myself to send one little text message to Roxas, real plain, real simple, real straightforward-like. _ 'Is your head feeling any better?'_ Proving I can be a caring son of a bitch when I want to. And five minutes later, Roxas proved that he could be a real goddamn _dense_ son of a bitch when _he_ wanted to.

_'It's fine,'_ he said. And that was all he said. My phone was crappy and quiet for the rest of the whole stupid day.

Fast forward to the evening. The evening at which I arrived at my swank apartment, already looking forward to a fun-filled night of a little red wine, a little fine cheese, and a little Roxas on the side. I mean. If drunk sex was awesome, think of how mildly-_tipsy_ sex would be.

I would have to ease my way into sober sex in order to avoid blowing my own mind. Of that much I was goddamn certain.

But wouldn't you just damn well know it. The first thing I see when I walk into the apartment? Roxas. No, not a happily naked Roxas. Not a sultry suggestive Roxas. A Roxas with those massive-assed headphones on, completely focused on his stupid computer in his lap. I don't even think he saw me enter the damn room. I made a mental note to invest in some glitter, some flashing lights, and maybe a few glow-in-the-dark billboards that read something like: APPLAUD, FUCKERS. THE SEX MACHINE HAS ARRIVED.

Classy, bitch.

Anyway. Back to the real issue I was presented with-- Roxas not paying attention. I sort of hung around the doorway and did this little foot-tapping business I was sure would send floor-vibrations over to the couch and up his very-aware-and-goddamn-sensitive spine, alerting him of my presence-- nothing. Not one goddamn thing. So I cursed a little-- "Hello to you, too, fucker"-- slid off my shoes-- _thud, clop_-- and walked over to the couch.

It took some extraordinary sitting power on my part to get Blondie Bear to look up from his computer.

And then he goes all smiley on my in his goddamn smiley little blonde way and says "Hey," like he's the sweetest little fucker the world has never seen. The nerve of that kid! Why, if he wasn't so cute, I knew I would've knocked his teeth out with one well-planted little kick. Instead, I stifled the urge to rape and settled for a smirk, a wink and-- well, okay, so the yawn came unexpected.

Ka-yawwwn.

"You tired?" he asked.

"Kinda." I wiggled my feet under his arm and into his lap-- no sexual business meant by it, really, I just wanted to stretch out on my own damn couch. ...Well, that and put some distance between Roxas and that computer of his. If Roxas minded my feet being where they were, he didn't say anything. Just gave that little bit of a smile, poked some keys on his keyboard and slid off his headphones. He hadn't even heard my 'Kinda.' Bitch.

"My dad fired my sorry ass so I was out looking for a job," I told him. Figured I could guilt him into paying attention to me, at least. I mean, seriously, it was the kid's fault I got fired, don't you know. And-- wouldn't you _know_ it-- he actually did look genuinely sorry.

"Shit, really?"

"Really, really."

"God... I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, who gives a flying fuck. You know, Roxas, there are few things in this world I hate more than putting siding on goddamn houses." Maybe I was saying it just to make him feel better. Or maybe I was saying it for my own benefit-- who the hell knows. I mean, getting fired never feels real good. Unless you get fired for a good reason... like...

_"Axel, I'm firing you because you set Mrs. Gainsborough's poodle on fire and then used the meat in your new advertisement for low-cal tofu kabobs and **then** proceeded to sell them to a pack of rabid vegans with pet falafels in diamond studded collars, thereby causing mass hysteria as all the vegans everywhere died one by one!" _

Now that would be a good reason to be fired. Not like...

_"Axel, I'm firing you because you were getting freaky with the customer's son."_

...Okay, so on second thought, that wasn't too bad a reason to get fired. Suddenly I found myself feeling much better about my current circumstance. So much better, in fact, that I suddenly felt like fooling around a bit more with the ex-customer's son. But, even though I'm an asshole-- even thought I'm a big flamingly horny asshole-- I'm still a big flamingly horny asshole with _morals_. Take that and suck it.

Anywho, these here morals of mine told me a little piece of advice, they damn well did. They told me, _"Axel," _they told me-- _"Axel, I think-- **we** think-- it'd be a good idea for you to make sure Roxas is a-okay with being a fairy before you screw him again! In fact, you should really make sure that last night has left him feeling no regrets! Yessirreee, that's a good solid, ethical plan of action, Axel!"_

These morals had a point. Text-ing Roxas to check on his head was one thing. But I really did need to figure out if casual sex would leave him scarred and wailing like a baby or... well, cheerfully tied to the bed and screaming for more. I wasn't an extremist. I was willing to take something in the middle. I'm an easygoing bastard like that.

"So Roxas," I started. Sounded like a good way to start. Now that his damn headphones were off, he seemed to be listening pretty intently, real focused on what I was--

"It's okay, I'm not upset or anything," he interrupted. So much for listening damn intently, the ill-mannered little fuck. I had a whole three lines of a goddamn speech prepared and everything. "..._You're_ not upset, are you?" he asked. I shook my head no. Silence followed. A big fat ugly silence. Which cried out for lipo-suction.

SCHLURRRP. ...SCHLUUUURRRRPPP.

That, ladies and gents, is the sound of Roxas sucking the fat out of silence.

"Uh, so, was your job hunt successful?"

"...No."

"Crap. Man, I'm sorry."

"What about _you_?" I snapped. Didn't mean to. It slipped. Seriously. "Shouldn't _you_ get a job? I mean, you can't honestly rely on your bottomless piggy bank in daddy-dearest's pants, can you?"

"Um. I did get a job."

"..._What._"

"Today. I went down to the convenience store and got a job."

"WHAT?" I wasn't screaming because I was angry. I was screaming because there was a spider dangling not three inches away from Roxas' left ear. Most definitely arachniphobic and not ashamed to admit it. Kill all the goddamn fuckers, I say.

A minute and one crummy spider-body later, silence was eating a T-bone in the back and laying on the pounds again. Roxas drummed his fingers against his headphones, his mouth kind of, _sort of _hanging open like he was planning on saying something. Something real profound, real brilliant. You know. That _Roxas_ kind of thing to say. And I waited for it-- this profound Roxas thing. I waited a good two, heck, _three_ more minutes before our buddy silence choked on a bone and croaked.

"So, watcha been doin' all day?" I asked. '_Aside from stealing my job, fucker_' was also supposed to be somewhere in there, but I forgot to tack it on. Probably better for it. Roxas might have huffed off. And my feet were still in his lap. They were happy there. I could tell. Happy feet, happy feet.

"Not much," Roxas said. Then he seemed to think about his answer, change his mind, and smile a bit. He closed his laptop and slid it off his lap and onto the coffee table and this act most _definitely_ filled me glee because, well, when you have someone's feet in your lap and not a thing left to do in the world, what do you do? What _do_ you **_do_**?

Foot massage!

Sadly, it didn't come. I could have chosen to be distraught, but I settled for disgruntled instead. Meanwhile, Roxas got all excited. Not the excited I could feel in his lap, but the excited I could see on his face. I guess I should have been glad to get it. Hell knows I rarely got much of anything from the kid to begin with anyway. But he did, at the very goddamn least, rest one arm on my leg. Probably because he really had nowhere else to put that arm of his-- I was pretty good at taking up an assload of space, I'll admit-- but still. Contact is key.

"I meant to tell you this morning... I sort of got this idea for my film project," he said. I could tell he was trying to bottle up his enthusiasm, trying not to bounce around with all his damn excitement. The thought cracked me up a little and I sort of snorted, which probably looked a bit mean to Roxas because he kind of mellowed out a bit after I did it. Didn't seem quite as gung-ho. Seemed more sedated than anything. Let down. God_damn_. Was I a let-down?

"That's cool," I told him, trying to get him all pepped up again. I'd never seen the kid pepped up. I kind of wanted to see where it would go. But the spark wouldn't set him off-- he was done. That little snippet was all I got. Still, couldn't blame me for trying... "Is it some sort of top-secret know-what or can you spill? Do share, Roxas, do share."

He looked at his hands, palms up and opened out. And I hate to say it-- hate to fucking admit it-- but it was annoying. That I'd taken this kid in, right under my most willing and oh-so-protective wing and everything-- and all he could give me as an explanation for his brilliance was: "It's nothing yet... I mean, I still have to finish writing the script."

I didn't know it then, but Roxas without a script and without a plan was Roxas unarmed. And neither of us knew it then-- hell no-- but that whole thing, that whole unarmed and defenseless and scriptless Roxas would be the one to fuck us all over in the end. If the kid had truly had a plan and a drive to carry it out...

Sorry. We're not there yet. Back to the apartment. Back to me with my feet in Roxas' lap and the kid with his hands and his blank-yet-brilliant stare.

"Write the script, cast the actors, shoot the film," I went. I joked. I fucking_ joked _about it-- the kid's brilliant little passion. Brilliant, brilliant, so fucking brilliant. "Rox-as, how do-oo you do-oo it?"

I remember him wincing a little and I knew I shouldn't have done it. Shouldn't have made fun of him. About anything else, maybe, but not about this. Not about his shoot and his film and his one shredded little hope of a future. Because he just shrugged a little and he took his arm off my leg and crossed them in front of himself. He wanted to pull away. ...At least my feet sort of had him trapped. "Anyway," he said after a minute, "I wanna start shooting by... next Wednesday, maybe. I'll keep calling the hotel and checking up on their space though, okay? Maybe someone'll have to leave early and there'll be a vacancy or something."

That was when I noticed the window hanging open over the couch. Over the goddamn couch and the open window and the flower-box and-- _BAM_. Right away I didn't feel so bad for making fun of Roxas anymore. All I was thinking was how the little shit hadn't listened to me, how he'd gone and--

"Did you open that window?"

"...It was really h--"

"I told you not to open the windows, Roxas."

"I'm sorry..."

I was sitting up then, I'd gotten so fucking riled. I mean, I don't even know exactly why I go so worked up over it. ...Well, okay, so I do know why, really, but that's not really important. I gave Roxas a good one-over and he really did look honest-to-God sorry and everything. I figured he probably wouldn't have looked so sorry if he knew. If he knew, dammit, just why I didn't want him opening the window.

But I didn't want to be mad at him. ...Which was really damn freaky because I usually wanted to be mad at everyone. Probably a side-effect from being so goddamn not-content because I couldn't have all my goddamn stuff around me all the time, but really now, no one gives a fuck. Long story short? I didn't want to hate Roxas quite as much as I wanted to hate every other little fucker under the sun.

So I played it cool. I eased up. I went, "Just close it later, okay?"

"I will." And I knew he would. And eventually he did. And there was that freaky feeling again, that sort of parallel-universe deal where there's some sort of unspoken agreement between two parties with equal ability to screw over the other's life. Granted, in the fine, fine case of Roxas and myself, we'd already ruined each other's lives to hell and back, but that sure as heck didn't mean there wasn't more left to be destroyed. Roxas could've burned down my apartment and broken my stuff. And I could've raped and broken Roxas.

But hey-laaa, none of that ever really happened, now did it? Did it? No, you say! Good kid. Good kid you damn well better be.

Anywho, after another awkward silence (and I was beginning to think that silence didn't come in any other variety, really), I was plopped down all over Roxas again. This time it was my head propped up in his lap, not my feet. _Score._ I could feel my feet resenting my head, but my head was laughing at my feet. And some-freaking-how, these two polar opposites of the body managed to mate like bunnies in my stomach and as I lay there in Roxas' lap, it felt like I was about to hiccup, sneeze, and cough all at the same time.

At first I was worried I was going to puke on the guy. How _not _to get him in bed with you? Blow chunks in his face. ...Yes. But it wasn't that. I wasn't sick. Thank God. I was just allergic to raspberries and Roxas just happened to smell like, well, raspberries. Raspberries and cream, to be more precise. To be even more fucking precise it would be raspberries and cream low-cal frozen yogurt. But that would be too precise and you'd be kind of freaked out so pretend I never went that far.

Well anyway, I was a little worried that, with all this raspberry-clothing business, I might develop an allergy to Roxas, so I came out with it and just asked him straight up-- "Why do your clothes smell like raspberry ice cream?"

And he just blinked and looked at me kind of funny with that one-eyebrow-raised business that I could never really master all that well. Yep. Just looked at me like that and responded real smart-like, "I dunno. They do?"

"Mmhmm."

I started to get a bit... frisky after that. You could say I like to play with fire. ...Well, you could say that for two reasons, really. One, because I actually do like to play with fire-- you have not learned the meaning of the word 'fun' until you've lit one of those marshmallow Peep creations on fire-- burn, baby, burn! ...Or two, because I sometimes like to do dangerous shit to make my flaming hair stand on its flaming end.

And sometimes I settle for the little thrills of messing with things I'm allergic to just to see what sort of fun things my body will do next. _'Swollen tongue blocking the air passage to my lungs? Hot damn-- I'm there!'_

That was how I managed to go from innocently lying in Roxas' lap without a care in the world to mouthing the guy's cock through his raspberry-scented-pants. Oops. Silly me.

"Um, Axel...?"

"Come on, Roxas."

"I don't want to have sex every night. I'm not a whore."

"_Normal_ people have sex every night."

"Normal people?"

"Yeah. _Nor. Mal._"

"What the hell makes you think you're normal? Have you_ looked _at yourself?"

Okay, that was harsh. Coming from Roxas, the words only got meaner and nastier as they plowed their ugly old way through the gas molecules and into my innocent little ears. I was done palming his ass if he was just going to be so damn mean about it. So I did what any self-respecting gent would do. I defended myself by employing a wondrous use of my amazing wit and superior logic.

"Appearances mean nothing! Don't you know jack shit? **Everyone** has sex! A **lot!** Once a day is nothing!"

"Maybe for people in relationships."

"Oh. You're one of those_ relationship_ people."

"Yes. I'm one of those_ relationship_ people."

In all honesty, I was a little bit surprised. I mean, right off the bat I could've told you that Roxas was more of a romantic sap than me. But on the list of romantic saps in the world, I can't say I rank real damn high, so for Roxas to be more of a sap than me-- well, come on. I mean. Have you _seen_ the kid? Not the point. Anyway. I figured the only way I could get into Roxas' pants that evening was to play the old ace.

"We could tell people we're going out."

"You're an asshole." ...Yeah, well, he had to have given me some credit for trying, at least. I think maybe he laughed a little. Or maybe that snort was some sort of superior 'I'm-more-of-a-raspberry-scented-queer-than-you-ya-goddamn-pussy' snort.

"You're not getting on top," I told him. Not with that kind of snort he wasn't. ...Damn straight he wasn't.

"We're not having sex!" Roxas whined. Not only did he whine, but he proceeded to make a bunch of similar grumbly noises following that one. It was kind of cute. In an almost-but-not-quite annoying way. I could feel his grumbly sounds through his stomach and that made me laugh a bit, but, in case you didn't know, laughing while you're lying on your back is some awkward shit. Especially if you _really_ get going, man. Then it just looks like you're having a seizure. And because I was thinking about all this crap, I really did start laughing quite hard. It probably looked like I was being electrocuted.

Well. You know. ...Electrocuted _again_. ...Goddamnit.

"God, you're a pain in the ass," I heard Roxas say.

"I could be, if you'd let me."

"I'm not a whore." Read: _'Axel, you sly dog, you. Smex me up right now!'_

Okay, okay. Enough play time. Even though the damn play time never even really got started. Take a breather, cool yourself off, kid. Back to the real point of all this and the evolving story that is, was, blah, blah, blah, insert other tenses here-- Roxas and myself!

Once I'd come back down from my laughter-induced high, Roxas' lap seemed significantly more comfortable than it had been before. Now, this may have been because the lack of oxygen flow to my brain during that little laugh-fest killed off a couple thousand cells and I wasn't feelin' so hot up in my head right about then. But I would like to think that if everyone in the world had people lying on their laps and laughing their heads off, then everyone in the world would have a more comfortable and friendly lap for lying in. It's a brilliant plan.

But once again, I've gotten side-tracked. Maybe Larxene was really goddamn right after all. Maybe I really am AD-- whoa, hey, a bunny.

Haha. Got you, fucker.

Now then. It occurred to me that I should maybe follow up on what good old Larxene had pointed out to me earlier that day. Like, oh, I don't know-- how the fuck Roxas managed to magically teleport himself all over in, out, and around town. With no car. No friends. And no-- yeah, we've been here before. So I did the manly thing. Because I'm a man, you know. I popped the question.

"Say, how'd you get home after the party anyway? ...More importantly, how the fuck did you get out there in the first place? I mean, I sent you the text and was totally stoked when you sho--"

"Stoked?" I swear, that kid had no manners. Always interrupting. Like that goddamn cow in that goddamn joke. God, he was _just_ like that cow!

"Shuddup. ...Totally fucking _thrilled_, you goddamn pansy, when you showed up, but still. Didn't think you'd make it out there. How'd you do it?"

"I got a ride."

"I thought you had no friends."

"I don't."

"So you're saying some stranger just happened to be heading your way? You pay him or what?"

"Yeah, I paid him."

Bing, bing, bing. Now if you was me and I was you, I would be laughing my ass off while you watched your precious little possession go rent himself out on the street-sides for a lift here and there. As it was, I was me and I was feeling a little conflicted. Kind of like I wanted to strangle, fondle, and curse Roxas all at the same moment. Well, when conflicted, it's best to act natural so no one knows what's up. I know this all too well. So instead of strangling, cursing, or fondling, I just made fun of Roxas, instead.

"You filthy little slut." Said with a smirk and a fair amount of sex appeal. I was pretty sure that if I played it all out with no mistakes from that point on, I could still get some action before I passed out in a sleepy stupor. But...

Roxas wasn't having it. He wasn't even smiling. I mean, I was joking, you know? But he just looked at me-- kind of blank-like. Kind of... disappointed-like.

"I'm not a whore," he said.

And I should have-- I damn well _should_ have taken it back. God, how many times in that one night alone had I found myself wanting to apologize-- which is not like me-- and take things back after I'd already blabbed them out-- which is _very_ not like me--?

Yeah, you'd think I'd learn, wouldn't you.

"Oh no, not whore, no-oo. Did I say whore? Nope. _Slut_. 'Whore' is so Parisian, don't you think? Nah, you're a slut, Blondie. Through and through-- an American slut. Just say it, kid. _Slut_. It's you."

And suddenly my comfy lap pillow rebelled against me. Roxas sat up and I nearly fell over. Falling over or not, I definitely bent my neck something funny. Oww. But I could still hear Roxas snap, "Screw you!" pretty damn loud, so I knew I wasn't banged up too bad.

"Hey, whoa, Roxas, chill man. It was just a joke..."

"I'm _not_, okay?"

"Okay. I got it." Roxas was pacing around the room for a while, sort of. He didn't look like he wanted to sit back down, but I wanted him to sit back down and I sometimes have some pretty damn manipulative... manipulative skills. And he did sit down again, right after some more silence. And he sat as far away from me as he possibly could, not quite sulking, but not exactly friendly either. Still, shot the kid a grin, made like nothing happened-- I wanted back in his comfy lap.

"So can I lie on my own couch or are you gonna bite my head off?"

"Yeah, I'll move." And he really did, too. Start moving, I mean. Getting up right away, right after he'd just sat the fuck down. Honestly.

"Don't_ move_, for God's sake. Jeeze. Just stay _put_, would you?" Me being the clever devil I am, I got my way and I got my warm allergy pillow back. Mmm, nothing like dangerous raspberries to really get me going. Fuck yeah. The only problem was that Roxas had his laptop in front of him, just past his knees on the coffee table. I could see his fingers itching for the headphones and I wasn't exactly an idiot-- I knew that once Roxas had those suckers on, he was gone for the night. So I rolled my head to the side, eyed the playlist he had open on the screen, and made use of my limited musical knowledge.

"I ever tell you I went to a concert of his?" The playlist was full of Rufus Wainwright's stuff. Wants One and Two. Roxas looked down at me and blinked, kind of confused, kind of startled. Like he hadn't expected the head in his lap to start talking or something.

"What?" he went.

"I _said_, did I ever tell you I went to a concert of his?"

"No. In the few things you've said to me since I got here, I can't honestly say that was anywhere on the list."

"Well, I did. Go to one of his concerts, yanno. He told this great joke. Wanna hear it?"

"Do I really have a choice?"

"Why did Raggedy Ann get kicked out of nursery school?"

"What the heck is nursery school."

"Answer the question!"

"Gee, Axel, I don't know. Why ever _did _Raggedy Ann get kicked out of nursery school?"

"She kept sitting on Pinocchio's face and screaming, 'Lie to me, li-ie to me!'"

"You are one sick freak."

"Damn straight."

And then a very curious sort of thing happened. Having successfully won out in the battle for Roxas' attention, I was soon not just lying in Roxas' lap, but-- wait for it-- having my hair _stroked_ by said Roxas. I could almost hear the computer crying out in envy. Fingertips that were supposed to be poking stupidly at those keys were then on _my_ scalp in _my_ hair and god_damn_, but did it feel _good_. Wether Roxas knew what he was doing or not, well, I'm still not quite sure. It's not really important. The important thing is that it happened and that for five minutes, it was me and Roxas. Roxas paying attention to me and me paying attention to Roxas.

It felt good. But you probably already knew that. Already heard that.

"How many people do you know?" Roxas asked after a little while.

"Huh?" Having gotten sidetracked in the pampering of my skull, Roxas hadn't exactly noticed that my head had turned towards him and I was once again faced with the most appealing sight of the zipper of Roxas' pants. Tempting, tempting, tempting. And having never been one for resisting temptation, I couldn't really step myself from nuzzling just a bit closer, breathing just a bit harder. You know. Making it really damn difficult for Roxas to even concentrate on whatever the hell he'd been thinking to begin with.

"P-People. I n-need people for the film." He was embarrassed by the shake in his voice. I could tell. Not that I gave a rip. But he wasn't giving up anytime soon-- he was just that stubborn of a little bastard. I sighed (girly) and pulled away (girlier) before shooting Roxas this kind of a look that I distinctly remember being especially pouty (so girly, you're entitled to kill me.)

"You're not gonna get _off _of that are you?" I asked him. When I got no response, I just rolled my eyes like the mature fucker we all know I was and am, saying, "Look. Larxene's been in some pictures, okay? Nothing big. She's not _amazing_ or anything, so don't get your fucking hopes up. And I'm sure there are others, alright?"

"How many can you get me?"

"How many do you need?"

"Just four."

"Easy." And really, I sort of thought it would be. ...Put some emphasis on that word 'thought' there-- I _thought_ it would be easy. Because I wasn't an unpopular screwball-- I mean, hell, I knew people. I knew lots of people. Surely four of them would be willing to help out a little rich boy with plenty of cash to deal out, right? Assuming he had the cash to deal out. ...But then again, I got to thinking that if his old man terminated his bank account or something like that-- which I was fucking _sure_ he was gonna do-- then Roxas would be screwed. Then he really would have to become a rent boy and for some reason that just didn't sit too well with me because 'sharing' is one of those lessons I failed in nursery school.

Hah. Nursery school... Hoo boy. Anyway.

"How're you gonna pay them?"

"With money."

"What if you run out?"

"I won't." I caught Roxas' eyes narrowed into what I guess would be a glare for him. "And _don't_ talk about my dad, would you?" He wasn't too good at glaring, to be real honest. His eyes just weren't built for it. Too big, round, and blue. Too much like the big old two-thirds of the goddamn globe.

"God, you act like he's a fuckin' saint or something," I said. I was talking about Roxas' pops, of course. Thinking back on it, that was also a pretty dumb thing to do. I mean, God, if I was that in to bashing the kid, why not pick on his mom while I was damn well at it? "He _did_ kick you out on your ass, you know," I'd told him. "Or don't you even remember that part?"

"It was _my _fault, okay? There. Completely my fault. You and my dad are both the victims of stupid little bone-head Roxas, okay?" He shook his head and I started to feel really damn bad right about then. It was just that I couldn't stop the stupid crap that seemed to keep leaking out. It was like a nosebleed. But... through my mouth. ...And not-blood.

"Hey, hey, hey. What're you doing?" Roxas was making like he was going to sit up and I wasn't sure just how much more abuse my sad, wimpy little neck could take. Plus, I still wanted more Roxas-pets. And I didn't want my pillow to leave. And godd_amn_it, I _still_ wanted sex!

"Oh I don't know, Axel. Maybe I'm planning on renting myself out on the street curbs." Did you see the sarcasm? I saw the sarcasm. I didn't appreciate the sarcasm. Neither did my neck. Or my skull. Or my feet. Roxas was making a lot of enemies right about then, even when he sighed his pouty little sigh and looked at me with those crazy blue headlights. "What does it look like I'm doing?" he asked. Real sulky. Real... hurt.

God... I actually felt pretty fucking bad...

"I was_ joking_, Roxas!"

"Whatever."

"You sensitive little _shit_. Just stay _put_ already, okay?" Probably not the best idea, but desperate times, desp-- yeah, yeah, you get it. I was pushing Roxas down, forcing him onto the couch against his will. Axel, the big mean rapist, hard at work. That was me all over.

"I don't wanna stay here anymore," he said.

"Yes you do," I said.

"No, actually, I don't. Now get off."

"You **do** want to stay here. Face up to it, Rox. You find me irresistible!"

"Yeah _right_."

"I could have died, you know. Getting struck by lightning like I did. It's a miracle I'm still here at all. Now I'm jobless and full of sore bones and bruises."

"You can't guilt me into liking you, Axel."

"Exactly. Because you _already_ like me. No guilt needed. That was just for effect."

"I don't like you."

"Why ever not?"

"Because you're a sex-obsessed freak."

"Face up to it, Roxas. You were completely sober last night." My fingers walked themselves up Roxas' chest and did a little tap-dance around his neck. I swear it was all them. I really had no control over it. "You wanted it."

"Get off me."

"If you wanted to, you'd push me off." I was sitting up then and Roxas, being the short little bugger he was, might actually have had something of a challenge in getting me off him. But he didn't move for it, didn't give it a go. Not even when I straddled the kid, pinned him to the couch-- arms around his shoulders and cheek to his temple. Sounds odd, but if you've never tried it, you should. You get that close to a person and you can almost feel their thoughts sloshing around in their head. Some oversized think tank.

"I wanna hear your brilliant idea."

"You just want to get some."

"You're _killing_ me, Roxas. You're _really killing_ me."

"Fine."

Roxas told me his idea that night. He spent the next three hours trying to explain it to me-- saying it out loud, muddling his way through it real slow and careful-like before back-tracking and re-doing it, revamping it as he went along. Something like_ 'No, wait, I forgot that back when she first met him there was a--'_

Like that. Like he was working so damn hard to get it straight.

And really, he was. It was just a shame that neither of us wrote it down, because the first time I heard it that night, it was goddamn perfect. It was so goddamn perfect I can't even begin to tell you how goddamn perfect it was because it was just that... well, goddamn perfect.

That is... up until The Roosevelt came into play. Up until they found Roxas. Who--too bad for them-- was _still_ mine.

(x) (x) (x)

Alriiighty. I have the next week and a half off my insane nine-hour-a-day Mary-Poppins-duty. This means? Update, update, update. Next on the list? Suburbia. Then Quoshoopy. P'chaa.

We start to see hints of plot develop in this chapter. Hooraaah! The next chapter will be largely plot oriented with a side of observant-yet-world-weary-and-jaded-Roxas-power. Hope you enjoyed chapter three and, as always, hope you keep reading, too.


	4. Auditory Boy

**Marigold**

'Auditory Boy'

x.Roxas.x

If I had said I wasn't as much of an uncaring bastard as everyone thought I was... well, no one would have believed me. With reason.

I guess I probably should have cared more than I really, _really_ did about losing my virginity. ...To Axel, of all people. But maybe that blow to the head I got the morning after sort of stuck with me for the rest of that day. The day I kind of blew Axel off (which was, really, the first of many of its kind), the day I got that job at the convenience store... which...

No, I never actually did end up working there. And I never did actually end up asking Axel why he wanted the windows closed, why I couldn't do _so much _without him going and flipping a shit on me. Come to think of it, there are a lot of things I should have done, but didn't. I guess it's a little like that for everyone, though.

It's just that not everyone really had it so... uh... extreme.

After I told Axel about my screenplay I was planning, he seemed sort of... well, I don't know. Different. With this weird look on his face. Almost like he was trying to think really, really hard about something. Back then, it was probably difficult. Back then, he was intoxicated a good three-fourths of any given day, of course, so doing much of anything was probably difficult. Still, I do recall three things from that evening.

One was the way Axel's breathing had sort of taken on this whispy, airy kind of tune to it-- the result of fighting off a bug-- or possibly just the result of some mechanism in his system needing to fill any silent room with a white noise of some sort. The second thing I noticed was the way his socks gritted a little against the rug when he stood up and it made me think of dead sandpaper. (As opposed to live sandpaper, you know.) And the third thing was the series of snaps, cracks, and pops of joint after joint as he got to his full height and looked down at me. ...Looked down _on_ me.

I was never really one to get the difference between the two. Axel was always looking down on me and I was always looking down on him. 'Conflicting personalities' would probably be that two-word, no-fuss explanation of any given psychologist with half a brain.

"It's good," he'd said. And for some reason, I'd cared so much. I was ecstatic. I was totally on some mental, emotional _trip_ just from Axel's simple and clean 'It's good.' I didn't know why I wanted his approval-- why I should have given enough of a damn to tell him about it in the first place.

The story was simple enough. It was some sort of _The Catcher in the Rye_ meets _The Blind Assassin_ meets _The Illiad_ meets _Dude, Where's My Car? _ (For the record, I never saw that movie. The only reason my screenplay related to it was in the sense that there-- well, there... was a car. And said car was stolen. That's where the similarities pretty much ended.) Now, that doesn't sound simple. I get it. And really, I'm only pulling up those references so it's not such a pain of a number for you-- or anyone else, really-- to understand.

It was actually like none of those things. What it was like was this:

_The camera pans slowly up the side of a building. You see the brick-- it's wet, glistens a little bit in the light. The light itself isn't an overbright kind of light-- it's a kind of cloudy-day light, a kind of half-dead light. You can hear a city background noise, a constant hum of cars and engines, commands and whispers, heels against concrete, wheels against concrete, change, canes, cans-- feet against concrete. But the camera moves slow and reaches a window. It's out of focus, or perhaps the glass is just fogged up. A hand appears and wipes at the glass. At the same time, the camera comes into focus on the main character, on--_

That was the beginning, at any rate. The early, early on. The rough sketch. The preliminary. Axel... was the first person other than me to see it in their head. He saw the rest of the first that evening. And when I say the first, I mean the first. The project itself was scrapped and reworked more times than I can really count or keep straight or anything, but the beginning scene-- the opening scene-- was the one thing that remained exactly the same as it had been the night I told Axel about it.

And that night didn't really seem important back then. It gave way to more nights and more of Axel's weird attempts to get in my pants, to knock me over on my back and make with the-- "Oh, look, Roxas, I just happened to fall on top of you and I'm not wearing any boxers! How silly." I can't say I didn't mind. It was annoying. Every time I sat down to work on my script-- on my baby-- Axel would turn up and put his head, his feet, or even his hand in my lap, right between me and the computer.

"Shouldn't you be working or looking for a job or something?" I'd ask him.

"Still recovering from electrical surge...ergy. Electrical surgery. Hell, that's funny. You know, the doc told me that a lot of people _look_ like they get off skate-free after a lightning strike, but the long-term effects are badass. Makes people flakey and slow in the head."

"Well, you're already showing signs of that."

"Fuck you."

"Fuck _you_. Get out of my lap."

"I live here. You owe me."

"I already pay you five times what the rent on this place is worth."

He never really did get a comeback for that one, so that was usually the point at which he either shut up and started faking sleep or at which he punched me in the arm, got up, and left. And if he didn't do either of those-- if he was too wired to fake it and too tired to leave, he usually managed to change the topic really, _really_ well. I have to give him credit for it.

"I think I have an ingrown hair under my arm, Roxas."

"WHAT."

Yeah, that was Axel. That was living with Axel. And with every day that went by, we drew closer and closer to strangling the life out of one another over each and every nothing-in-particular sort of fight we had. I would try to write my script, he would distract me. He would try to talk to me, I would have my headphones on. I would get hot and open the window, he would go ape-shit as soon as he walked in the door. One of us couldn't do anything that didn't somehow bother the other.

"Roxas, why is the toilet paper fucking _pink_?"

"It was on sa--"

"_Sale_? But it's fucking pink. I don't want to wipe my ass with pink paper!"

"Well then _eat_ it or something!"

"Eat it? _Eat_ it? Good _god_, Roxas, can't you make a better comeback than that?"

Or, my personal favorite...

"Axel, have you seen my black hoodie?"

"Uh. No. Can't say I really make it my business to keep track of your clothes."

In all honesty, he'd had a point. It was stupid to think Axel would actually bother to pay attention to my clothing when he probably wished I would just run around the apartment stark raving naked. Anyway.

"You only have _one bag_ of stuff," he told me, talking around a mouthful of Applejacks and dribbling milk down his chin in the process. "Isn't it in there?"

"I checked, it's not there. I thought I left it on the bathroom floor."

"Oh. That."

...'Oh. That?' I froze. It was a pretty dramatic moment. I'd give it that. Even Axel must have picked up on it somehow because he stopped stuffing his face long enough to look at me long and hard.

"Axel--" he could probably tell I was trying to keep from snapping-- nails-on-the-chalkboard effect-- that spine twisting, skull cracking kind of a lilt-- "what'd you do with my hoodie?"

He got up from the counter-- his favorite place to perch and throw his lame ass comments around like piss-colored snowballs-- walked over to the sink and turned on the tap. "Well you see, Roxas," he said. "There was this spider."

"...You used my clothing to kill a spider."

"Did I say that? No. Shut the fuck up."

He said that a lot. He said it in the way that he always said it back then. To this day, Axel is still one of the only people I know who can say 'shut the fuck up' and almost sound endearing about it. And I say 'almost' because any time he told you to shut the fuck up, it was usually followed up by some sort of godawful news or revelation. Like, oh, I don't know...

"Anyway like I was saying, there was a spider and it crawled up my arm while I was drinking my juice, so I just jerked a bit and spilled juice on the floor. On your hoodie."

"...I said it was in the bathroom."

"It was, but I had to use it to wipe up the juice and I didn't want it to stain the tile."

Okay. Now.

I knew Axel was lying because a.) he would never willingly admit to having freaked out over a spider even though he was so obviously arachnophobic, and b.) Axel never drank juice unless it was mixed with vodka. And I don't even know if you can mix juice with vodka. I'm not a big drinker. I've only been smashed three times in my life and I've never really understood the kick some people seem to get over spewing chunks into a toilet bowl. I mean, it just doesn't appeal to me.

But now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure you can mix vodka with juice. I think. But that really doesn't matter. The point is, Axel was lying and it was obvious. That, and he'd just made a moron of himself-- a bigger moron than usual.

"Your floor," I told him, "isn't tile. It's linoleum."

"Oh." He poked at it experimentally with one socked foot. "Sure enough. it is."

"Don't lie to me, Axel."

"You want the truth?'

"Yeah."

"You can't _handle_ the truth."

"Axel."

I think I'll spare you the graphic details of what exactly it was he told me. He leaned toward me and his Applejack breath hit me square in the face right along with his weird confession of sorts. Yeah. I'll just cut right to the chase. Or something like that. Some lame sort of expression like that. But look. All you need to know is this.

He jerked off on my hoodie.

Now then, it occurred to me at that moment that I was probably living with some sort of sexual deviant who was rapidly morphing into a deranged, Roxas-groping freak. I might have been worried if I hadn't been preoccupied with the thought that the more I deprived Axel of sex, the better the sex was bound to be when I finally gave it to him. In fact, I was so preoccupied that rather than exploding at Axel (which, I think, he more than expected me to do right about then), I decided to just even it out.

If it was some sort of grand scheme of Axel's to one-by-one defile every article of clothing I owned until I was driven to nutidy, well, I figured I'd go down fighting.

"Fine then," I said. He blinked. I walked into his room. He just stood there, shocked too stupid to realize I'd just gone and broken a beloved ground rule. 'Don't go in my fucking room,' or something like that. Not that it mattered anyway. In a minute I was back in front of him carrying some lime green sweatshirt I'd found on the bedroom floor. I was doing Axel a favor by taking custody of it.

I told him, "You wanna be like that? Fine. This is mine."

"Are you gonna wank all over that?" he asked. Axel was a classy guy.

"Probably," I said, just trying to spite him. I should've known it wouldn't work. Only an idiot would've tried that move on Axel and I guess I was feeling particularly idiotic that day or something, because the next thing I knew Axel was grinning like a moron and if he had a tail, it would've been wagging like crazy.

"Can I watch?"

"N-No!"

It was never a serious problem-- our fighting all the time. Truth be told, it grew on me after a while. I was guilty of nitpicking everything Axel did just so I could get on his case about it, just so he'd get defensive, just so I'd get offensive, just so we'd have each other screaming and hollering and cursing and slamming around that rinky-dink apartment of his. It got me feeling better, feeling that I wasn't so much a freeloader as I was a roommate. Axel's roommate.

It's not much, is it? Thinking about it now. But back then... Back _then_ it was important. And the more we fought, I think, the closer we got somehow. That... doesn't make much sense, I know. But maybe to some it does. He started spending more time around the apartment, too, those few days after that random boat-sex incident. Whether it because he was newly unemployed or because he was trying to hang around as much as possible in hopes of getting some, who knows. But there he was and wherever Axel was there were arguments abound.

Like I said, no big deal. Up until the tenth night, by which point I was cool with the fighting and Axel and I were making more of a game out of it than anything else. I could tell. And he was cracking on me about Janey, about my dad. I wasn't too offended. From his point of view, I guess they were pretty laughable.

"--has the largest, fakest, most _plastic_ tits I've ever had the goddamn misfortune of seeing. I mean. _Really_ now, Roxas. How did you manage to live with her and not lose an eye?"

"The same way I manage to walk around this apartment and not lose an eye."

"Now what about my apartment would make you go eyeless, huh?"

"You could poke my eye out with that boner of yours you're always walking around with."

"_What_? I do not."

"You're horny." I made a point of looking at him over the top of the laptop screen in that really condescending way. _You_ know the way. That much I clearly remember because I think it was that look that pushed Axel the wrong way. That look that reads like 'God, but can't you do anything right? You're a big screw up. A big mistake. Just look at you, look at you.'

Now I don't know how Axel's horniness was such a sore point with him. I really don't. In all honesty, I thought he'd embraced that weird, perpetual horniness or something, what with the way he went on and on about sex. Don't get me wrong. Sex with Axel was good. But when you're on the receiving end-- at least when I'm on the receiving end-- you don't want to do it every day or anything. I mean, it hurts. ...But that's probably more than you needed or wanted to know, right?

Besides. I'm sure Axel would fill you in with all the porny details. He does that kind of thing. It's a very Axel thing to do.

Either way, what happened next happened insanely fast. Axel huffed and said something like, "Fine, if I'm too sexy for you, maybe you should just go live somewhere else then." He had my duffel bag in his hand and flung open the very window I was so forbidden to open. And he dangled my duffel bag out the stupid window. And my camera was in there. ...And I completely freaked out.

The computer hit the surface of the coffee table (and I'm actually pretty lucky it didn't break or something) while I launched myself off the end of the couch, proceeded to get my foot caught on the armrest, and fall the rest of the way smack into the side of Axel's body. He yelped, I cursed.

And down went the duffel bag. Right outside the window.

For some reason, I had it in my head that even though my camera had just taken a fifteen foot drop to the ground, it could still have been okay. Those twisted little scraps of plastic, metal, and glass weren't my camera. They just happened to be lying unusually close to my duffel bag. My duffel bag which was lying in a road that was usually not very busy. I figured I was safe. I figured my camera was safe. I figured it would just take me two minutes to beat Axel up and then run down the stairs to my camera's rescue, you know.

And then a car ran over it.

Then two more, just for kicks.

By the time they were gone, it sort of looked like a baby robot had committied suicide. Or maybe Axel pushed him. It. Electronic reproductive organs in the lacking, I guess the robot that never existed would have to be an it.

Well, I was staring there-- down there, really-- at the mess of my thousand-dollar camera. And I was staring and staring and sort-of-but-not-really thinking about what I was going to do next. Punch Axel. Kill Axel. Castrate Axel. They all seemed like really viable, perfectly logical follow-up actions. Instead, though, I just got a little angry.

I don't get angry very often--

"YOU. **STUPID**. SON OF A _BITCH_!"

--but when I do, it's not a very pretty sight.

Axel ran. I shouldn't have been surprised. Actually, I kind of wasn't. The only thing that surprised me was that he ran in-- and _hid_ in-- the bathroom. Even more surprising was that I was finding myself slamming into the door. Repeatedly. _Brutally_. And I kind of was wishing Axel would somehow stop me (even from the other side of the door, like he was) because I just had this throat-twisted, gut-wrenching feeling that was a little like foreshadowing. Something that told me I was either going to give myself a concussion or just bruise myself something wicked if I kept at it.

He was saying something from the other side of the door-- that I was sure of-- and I stopped giving myself bruises for just a moment to hear him out. I wasn't unreasonable or anything. I prided myself constantly on being the only mature presence in Axel's stupid life back then.

"--stupid piece of machinery, Roxas, it--"

"Stupid piece of _machinery_? That was my fucking _life_, Axel!"

"Well, maybe it's a sign that you need to... uh, you know... not be so obsessive."

"Ob_sess_--!" Voice cracked. Had to cool down. I stopped talking for a moment, but I probably shouldn't have. The minute I chilled down the adrenaline pump and the anger surge, all I was left with was this really tired sort of defeat. But you don't get it. I wasn't being over-dramatic like Axel thought. I wasn't being some spoiled brat. That camera was my everything and I'd put my future into learning how to use it, learning how to make it observe the world in a way that would make people stop, think, and pay money to do it all over again.

Yeah. I'd not only put my future into it. I'd _made_ it my future. And Axel had destroyed it, just like he'd destroyed my chance at living with my dad. Axel edged the door open and he probably smiled or made some effort at some kinda lame cheer with his face, but whatever it was, I didn't catch it. I was too busy staring at his shoes. The shoes that had, without any warning whatsoever, walked all over my regulatory within-the-lines life and squashed it into the ground. And then jumped on it. Toed up the grass a bit.

I was really _not liking_ him, but he was either very stupid or very desperate because he didn't go back to hiding in the bathroom. He actually acted-- dare I even say it-- courteous.

"Hey man, that wasn't supposed to happen."

And because I wasn't a stupid bitch, I was inclined (or trained, really) to act courteous in response. Isn't it dumb, these stupid morals we have drilled into our heads when we're kids? Even if someone has completely wronged you in every damn way possible, you get into this certain social ring of well-to-do-hoo-hahs and they're all so big on forgive-and-forget that it's like their ecstasy, their alcohol. And as their little baby brats, we're all too doomed to do much but make with the fake niceness ourselves.

So, "Yeah," I said. "I know." It _wasn't_ supposed to happen. But then again, Mom wasn't supposed to overreact, Dad wasn't supposed to be so controlling, Janey wasn't supposed to be so two-timing, and Axel wasn't supposed to be so... Axel. I was going to put a better word there, you know. More appropriate. Like destructive, immature, idiotic. But somehow they don't do him justice. Even after everything. But I can't blame it entirely on those forgive-and-forget values I talked about. Even I can't do that.

Instead, I blame the most of it on me. My forgiving Axel was _my_ fault. My always being soft with Axel was _my_ fault. I could be a bastard to everyone and anyone if something good would come of it in the end, but I could never master it with Axel. The closest I could come was sarcasm, so that's what I used with him all the damn time because he left me so frustrated, not being able to ignore him, not being able to block him out and verbally kick him in the face.

Hands grappling at my shoulders, Axel tugged me into this awkward hug-- awkward because of our height difference and awkward because neither of us was really expecting it, I guess. The top of my head bumped against his chin and I heard his teeth click together in his mouth, but he didn't complain. And he was bony and hard and unbending, but I didn't complain. Hugging Axel was like hugging a wooden plank.

But if I was a drowning kid in the middle of an ocean, hugging a wooden plank would be pretty comforting. That's how I like to look at it. ...Not that I was a drowning kid or anything. ...Now it's just weird, so never mind that explanation, okay?

x x x

I dragged Axel out with me to see what we could find in the way of a decent video camera. He said there was a Radio Shack about three blocks away, and if that didn't work for me, we could wait for the bus and try to get a ride out to some Best Buy in the town over. Axel didn't poke fun at me by suggesting we try my method of bumming a ride off strangers-- maybe that was his little break he gave me as an apology for breaking my camera in the first place. After all, Axel said he'd come with me to replace the camera. He never said he'd pay for it.

Not that I would've wanted him to. It's not like he could've really afforded it. Still.

We were almost to the Radio Shack Axel mentioned when we passed by the Roosevelt Hotel. I pulled us to a stop, said I wanted to check up and see if they had any open rooms. Axel shook his head-- "You shouldn't bother," he said. "They don't."

And just then...

"_Rox_-as!"

...I knew that voice. That voice alone was enough to send any man with a drop of common sense sloshing between his ears at a dead sprint for the highest hill at the farthest distance from her. Except for my dad, I mean. My dad was one of those guys who thought he was the big man on campus, but really, he was just kind of a shrimpy little loser like me. With a big wallet.

"...Janey?"

She hadn't changed in the week or so since I'd last seen her, of course. Who knows why I really thought she would've changed all that much. Same ridiculously large breasts that she seemed to purposefully swing around in the exact opposite motion to her hips. When one thing swung left, the other swung right. A really lame looking kind of strut, if you ask me, what with her hands flying all around like they used to, and all that. And she ran up to me then, grabbed my hand and crippled and crunched it right between her own two, going on like an absolute idiot-- like we were the best of friends.

I think I almost puked a little when she kissed me on the cheek. ...Both cheeks. ...Twice. ...The pain didn't stop. But it was made a little better because I could hear Axel spluttering some indignant nothings behind me. Like Janey was contaminating my body that was so-fucking-rightfully his or something. Though really, I did feel a bit contaminated. But now we're just off-topic.

"_Hey_ there, babe! What're you doing around _here_, huh?" Janey asked me.

"Uh..." I thought of explaining it to her in-depth. Sort of giving her the rundown, like I've done here for you. But then I figured that Janey's attention span was only so great, after all, and I had places to get to, money to spend. Materialistic thoughts like that sure do _make_ a person.

Thankfully, I didn't have to worry about it because Axel's existence at that moment actually proved to come in handy.

Janey peered over my shoulder... over my head, okay, not going to lie-- the shortness was obvious-- and caught sight of Axel standing there looking just about ready to break something. She beamed at the guy and her mouth swung open into this giant trap of a thing when she thought enough to recognize him. "Hey, _you_! **_I_** know you! _You're_ that _siding_ boy!"

If it was possible for Axel to bristle, he would've done it. Then again, his hair was the right texture. Maybe he bristled and I missed it or something. Maybe Janey's breasts had momentarily blinded me and I missed everything in the following minutes.

"The one and only," I heard Axel grit out. "...Around here, at any rate."

"_Oh_, you're a _riot_!" I hate when people say things like that. It's almost as bad as calling someone 'marvelous,' really. Only more, you know. ...Insulting? I didn't have time to figure it out-- Janey's attention was back on me and her buggy little brown eyes were about popping out of her skull when she spoke, she was just _that_ eager.

"_Listen_, Roxas, _seriously_, what're you _doing_ out here? Did your _dad_ send you out? I _told_ him--"

"Uh, he kicked me out, if that's what you mean."

"So really, he sort of sent him out," Axel quipped. He waved one pale and pathetic fist around with a bark of laughter. "_Forcefully_! Ahaha!"

"Shut up," I bitched. I felt like bitching. Being around Axel sometimes had that effect on people.

My face was none-too-politely and all-too-physically introduced to Janey's plastics as she jerked me into this weird and painful hug that had me buried in her giant chest. It was more than a little terrifying, especially when she wouldn't let _go_ and just kept howling something like, "Oh _no_, I'm _so_ sorry, baby!"

I was really, really preferring Axel's awkward stick-hugs to Janey's squishy suffocating hugs, but because I couldn't very well open my mouth in that position, I could very well state this opinion, either.

"Ugh," was the only noise I could make. And even then, I think it was a little bit lost in all that padding.

"What on _Earth_ happened?" Janey asked, finally letting up so I could breathe a little.

"It's a long story."

"But you don't have _any_where to _stay_, do you? Oh you _poor_ thing, you." Janey's red lips puckered into this piercy, frowny thingy and I'll admit to sort of ducking away a bit in order to avoid any impending attacks of affection. For all her dimwittedness, Janey was capable of launching surprise attacks like nobody's business. You endow a girl like that with things like that and, well, that's what you get. Torpedo attacks _everywhere_.

"Hey, **_I_** know!" She snapped her fingers with the arrival of a brilliant revelation on her part and something of a death sentence on mine. "You can stay with me! We'll have _so_ much fun and--"

"Actually, Roxas is staying with me." That was the first time I was actually truly grateful for Axel talking. But still. I couldn't let him know that.

"Temporarily," I told Janey.

"For a while," Axel added.

"Just a few--"

"Weeks."

"Days."

"_Months_, in fact."

"..."

Yeah, that was Axel again.

"Roxas, I'm _sorry_. I guess your dad _was_ a little upset about what I said, huh?"

"He didn't actually tell me anything. What'd you do to him?" Of course I knew exactly what Janey had done-- not with Dad, but with whoever else happened to show up and want to stick his stick in her box. The thing that really irked me was how it was like she wasn't even owning up to it. It's one thing to fuck around. It's another to fuck around and deny it.

I mean... just...

"Wh-- Hey now, I was sticking _up_ for you, I'll have you know!" Like that. But that was where I stopped because the idea of Janey defending much of anyone just sort of felt wrong in my mind and it was something that definitely, _definitely_ warranted an explanation.

"How the **heck** were you sticking up for me?"

"_He_ was coming down on _you_ while going down o-- That's not important.

_Look_, he was com_plain_ing about you. And your... _you_ know. Your '_habit_.'"

"Of screwing guys?" Axel snorted. It sounded dumb. Snorting sounds like that, as a general rule. If you're one of those snorting people like Axel, I'd advise you to cut it out, seeing as, just like I said, it's freaking dumb. And I could've punched Axel. Really, I could have. Or maybe I just _should_ have but couldn't. ...Augh.

"Oh Roxas doesn't _just_ like _boys_, silly. He's a well-_rounded_ boy." Well-rounded, bisexual... same-same.

"In more ways than-- fuck!" My foot spazzed a little in the general direction of Axel's shin. It couldn't have been helped.

Thankfully (I think), Janey didn't pick up on it. Her eyes just sort of widened even more and I swear they might have even started tearing up a little. If nothing else, I have to say her ability to cry on command was pretty intimidating...

"Oh, _Roxas_. I'm _sorry_. If I hadn't gone and opened my big _mouth_--" ...But a lot about Janey was intimidating, really...

"I wish I could make it _up_ to you, yanno?"

"Uh, thanks, Janey, but that's really--" ...Not just her physical features, either...

"**_I_** know! What about dinner at _my_ place tonight, huh? _You_ know the girls I room with. They're _total_ sweeties and they absolutely _a-dore_ you, Roxas! They'd _love_ to have you."

...But her ability to suck you in. Somehow. Even if you knew what a tramp she was. Even if you really, _really_ knew and really, _really_ resisted, you know?

Everyone knows people like that. The people who you can't stand, who rub you every wrong way, but can still kick your dignity in the ass and smile like the littlest idiot while doing it.

And on any normal day, I probably would've caved and let myself be hauled along to lord-knows-where with Janey and her pack of feral hens. (Can hens be feral? I don't know.) But with Axel there, I figured it was about time I proved that I was, in fact, a guy with a spine who was capable of saying no with a serious and demanding sort of tone. So.

"Um.. N-No thanks. I uh... I need to be getting a room..." I tried to turn around. I tried to leave. And in retrospect, if Axel hadn't stopped me, it's absolutely amazing how different things would have been. But Axel did stop me. He wanted a free dinner. And it's funny now to think that everything that happened _happened_ because Axel _had_ to have his way.

Axel _had_ to go and look through my window. Axel _had_ to listen to me. Axel _had_ to kiss me. Axel _had_ to get struck by lightning (Okay, I'll admit this one wasn't entirely his fault, but there are others.) Axel _had_ to throw my camera out his window. Axel _had_ to hold me back and make me talk to Janey. Axel _had to get that damn free dinner_.

It's circumstance and coincidence that kill us all. Of that much I'm pretty certain.

"Dude, what's up your ass? She's just being fucking nice."

"Stupid's more like it," I muttered.

Axel's hands were on my arm and he was wheeling me back around and I was just about getting ready to let that foot of mine spaz again when Janey started talking. ...Again. She was standing there with her mouth open like she was waiting for flies to head on in, just gaping up at the Roosevelt. And her nose did this little scrunching number when she turned back to look at me, though I don't know if she was reacting to the Roosevelt's appearance or my own. You live out of a duffel bag (which, by that point, wasn't even in existence anymore) and your presentation points hit the gutter. It's a fact of life, I guess.

"You're trying to get a _room_? **_Here_**?" She was pointing up at the sign outside the hotel, this battered old neon thing that had probably been around since the town was first raised way back in the roar of the twenties. Back when my dad's breed of new-money-buddies first started waddling out of the cesspool of average guys. You know how it works, though. It's just history, now.

"But I thought you were staying with _him_," Janey said, swinging her pointing finger over towards Axel.

"He is," Axel said. He was all for the free meal, but he seemed pretty insistent that Janey get it through her head-- **_Roxas is staying with Axel._**

And because he was being such a possessive jerk, I just felt a little compelled to add in: "Just for a while."

"Face it, Roxas. This place is packed," Axel said. His eyes were on the unlit 'vacancy' sign hanging by the doorway. It was obvious he didn't think much of the joint, either. He just crossed his arms. Shook his head. Said, "Though _why _anyone would be that desperate to stay here, I'll never fucking know."

"**_I_** know!" Janey said.

"You _do_?" I asked.

"You **do**?" went Axel.

And no, it is _not_ true that great minds think alike. I don't even want to hear it.

"My cousin's in town! Well, adopted cousin, really." Janey did the lip-puckering thing again and pressed one finger to her mouth thoughtfully, making a picture that probably belonged in a porno flick. If she'd been dressed up as a schoolgirl in pigtails, I could've named five guys right on the spot who would've creamed their pants in five seconds flat.

"He's _real_ 'up there' in the business. _You_ know how it goes. You get to a certain _level_ and you absolutely can't go _anywhere_ without an army of people following you. He brought the whole she_bang_ up here just to grab ano..." There was another snap of the fingers. Another brilliant revelation. You want to know how I knew it was all staged? Janey never has more than one revelation in a week. It just doesn't work. So obviously she'd planned it out. And I know that now-- I know that for sure now. But at the time all I could do was just stare really, _really_ blankly at her while she drew up my fate.

"_He-ey_."

"Hey what?"

"**_I_** know what I'll do for you!"

"Um."

"We'll go see him right _now_! If _anyone_ can do anything for you, _he_ can! He's rich and powerful and, like, a _total_ money guru. _He'll_ get you squared away. And if you play it _nice_ with him, why, I'll bet he could land you a room in this crummy old hotel for _ages_!"

"...Really?"

"Whoa, _what_? Just who the fuck _is_ this guy?" I think Axel was a little miffed by the whole 'play it nice with him' thing. To be honest, I was, too. I wasn't sure if 'playing it nice' meant not being an asshole or... being an asshole. That was crude, but if you get it, you get it. Sorry, though.

"I _told_ you, he's my adopted--" And suddenly Janey was flinging one arm into the air and waving it around and grinning and beaming and _gushing_-- "Luxord!"

Luxord, despite his recklessness, looked absolutely... _wow_... in a casual suit. I figure I should sort of just say it and get it out of the way or something. And while I would later come to think of Luxord as a manipulative, selfish, reckless moron, I'll also say now that he had his good side. He had his charms.

And thankfully, he was nothing like--

"Janey, nice to see you." He nodded in her direction and for a moment I think he shared the pain that all creatures did when interacting with Janey. But then he covered it up with this professional face-wipe of all disgust and plastered on a snarky smile. Especially when Janey spun back around to face me, hands clasped together and head nodding in a way that looked a little too wild to be entirely safe on her brain.

"Luxord is setting up another _chart-topping_ new band. Isn't that right, Luxord?" With a nod from her dear adopted cousin, Janey was all grins and smiles and giggles and laughs again. "They're such _sweet_ boys! Around _your_ age actual-- Oh, isn't that _funny_, Luxord? They _are_ right around Roxas' age after all!"

"Eighteen?" Luxord asked me. It was the first time he actually directed all his attention at me and, well, I'm not going to lie to you. It was intimidating. Not in the same way Janey was intimidating. Luxord's intimidation reeked of power, pleasure, and persuasion. The sort of persuading I'd used to get myself rides in and around town.

"Not quite."

The smirk was back, his fingers absently reaching up to stroke a flawlessly trimmed beared. "Roxas, huh?" His gaze shifted over to Axel and I was instantly praying the guy wouldn't go and make a fool of himself. "And who're you?"

"The prodigal roommate."

"I see." Now I don't know if Luxord was somehow telepatheic or what. Sometimes I had my suspicions. But just by exchanging those two sentences-- and Axel's wasn't even a full sentence, really-- Luxord somehow _knew_ that Axel and I had fucked and that Axel, at least, was dying to do so again. Don't ask me _how_ he knew. He just did. To a degree, Luxord was more of a genius than the world gave him credit for. He's one of the few people I don't resent for being rich. I just resent him for other reasons.

"Luxord," the guy said, shaking my hand in that brisk, business-like way that only the real pros can truly master. He made a point of introducing himself, kind of ignoring the fact that Janey had already done it for him. I think we all kind of ignored it, really. It was a wonder Janey had remembered the name of her adopted cousin in the first place. She could barely remember how to operate the dishwasher.

"Producer of Promise," said Luxord. "You haven't heard of them yet, but pretty soon the whole nation'll know 'em and have their Promise posters hanging on their pre-teen room walls. I'd bet my life on it."

Luxord grinned and whipped out a business card, holding it right between his middle and index finger. I knew it was corny, but he still managed to make it look impressive somehow. Maybe that was just the height difference taking its toll. Either way. 'Luxord' was all the card had for his name. 'Trinity Records - Producer.' A phone number, a P.O. box number, and an email address. And even though I was impressed, Axel still managed to snort and snuff out any superiority Luxord had going for him.

"_Trinity_ _Records_? That some kinda religious record label or something?"

"No." When Luxord snubbed Axel like that, it squicked me. Just like everything about that day, it was the first of many-- the first of many Axel-snubbings, on my part and everyone else's. For me to do it was one thing. I knew I didn't mean it. How _could_ I mean it, I mean? The guy gave up his couch to me. In the world of guys, your couch is your temple. So-- putting two and two together-- Axel gave me his temple.

That sounds obsessive.

And a bit cultish.

Well.

Somehow Janey'd gone and gotten her arm all twisted around my neck and I kind of thought she was on the verge of strangling me or mashing me into her melon-breasts again. Thankfully, neither happened. She just giggled and stuck her face real close to mine, going, "_Say,_ Roxas, how would you like to be part of a _band_, huh?"

"I can't sing."

"They'll _teach_ you!"

"No, really, I can't sing. Or play any in--"

"That's _fiiine_. Just fine!" Luxord said. He was looking at me when he said it. Again, that whole height difference thing made me feel short, stupid, and vulnerable as anything. "Few can."

"What the hell kinda band has members who can't sing or play any goddamn instruments?" Axel snapped.

"A boy band." And the way the guy said it with a straight face, I almost thought he was just joking. But no poker face is built to be that indesctructible. He was absolutely serious. And Axel was absolutely laughing his ass off at my expense. But surely you saw that one coming.

"HAHA! AWW, SONOFA _BITCH_, ROXAS! Bo-oy band! That's right up your fucking alley!" Axel's arm slung its way around my neck to join Janey's-- though Janey's arm made a hasty retreat as though touching Axel might somehow pass his paleness onto her bronzed body. In a way, I was glad. At least with Axel half-hugging me it was a return to nicer kind of awkwardness than the one Janey provided. "_Really_, you don't want this kid. I've heard him singing in the shower and it sounds like someone's skinning a cat."

Forget what I just said. Axel could go die.

And meanwhile, I was trying to make up a better, more mature excuse as to why exactly I was not boy-band material. "Sorry, that's not really my--" But Luxord was studying me again and I stopped and... "--Uh?"

"Your voice would work great for the job."

"I can't sing. I _don't_ sing. I don't _want_ to sing." I was remembering why I was out there on the streets in the first place. Remembering my shattered camera, how angry I'd been at Axel, his apology, his hug. That was why I was there, set out to buy a new camera so I could get back the balance Axel had thrown. I didn't want what Luxord had to offer. And I told him so. "I want to be involved in movies, not music."

"Oh _that_ was it. '_Movies_, not music.' _Not_ 'music, not movies...'" Janey's head was cocked to one side and she was clearly trying to sort out my priorities in her jail-cell brainhold.

"Plenty of musicians go on to become actors. It's easy once you get your foot in the door, so to speak. Once you make the right connections." Luxord grinned and leaned a little closer. Axel stiffened and I tried not to feel like some lame toy that was being fought over by the stereotypical kids in the sandbox.

"Yeah, I understand just fine, but I'm not really into the whole idea of... well, lip-synching or anything." Not to mention I didn't want to become an actor-- but to mention this was pointless. I knew Luxord probably would've just peppered me with the 'connections' excuse again.

"All we do is a bit of enhancement! It's still your own voice. It's simply adjusted to fit better with those of the other bandmates. Our man Vexen works the soundboard, twinks it up-- runs smoothly as clockwork."

"At least go in for an audition, Roxas! It would be fun!" Janey knew I wouldn't need an audition. And it was that fake, forced little detail that clued me in on one very important little fact... "Luxord, Roxas is looking for a room to stay in. You can fix him up with one, right?"

"We've got a suite on hold _just_ for you."

Janey had basically pawned me off to her beloved 'adopted cousin.' She'd staged the entire thing. Because I underestimated her ability to plan and carry out anything, Janey played me right into the position she wanted me and everything worked out perfectly for her in the end. ...Though, that's probably not what you wanted to hear.

x x x

Two hours was all it took. I was done for. Now, I think of myself as having been a complete pushover-- some stupid blonde doormat set up for the world to trod right over on its way inside to where the damn party was. But really? That's _exactly_ right. I was a pushover and I was a thing that existed for people to use.

Axel was pissed. I could tell because he wasn't saying much of anything, really, just sort of skulking along somewhere to the right of me, hands crammed so deep in his pockets it's a wonder he didn't pull them down or anything. But the way he was acting, you'd all probably have thought that someone had just crucified his mother. I didn't know if she was dead or anything back then. I still don't, really. I've never seen her, but that doesn't mean much of anything. Either way, no one really has a mother anymore. Just a woman with a name. Just another Janey with a different face, a different cup size, and a different shade of foundation.

"You're mad aren't you?"

"Why the fuck would I be mad."

"I don't know. But you are."

"Well then if it's so _fucking_ obvious, don't _fucking_ ask about it. Shut the fuck up."

I told him I needed to stop somewhere to buy some clothes. I didn't go for pointing fingers. Didn't go laying the blame out thick and heavy. Didn't mention the camera, the duffel bag, or the fact that, if it hadn't been for him and his hormones, none of those would've happened in the first place. So maybe he tagged along with me out of his own unspoken respect for my silence. Or maybe he just tagged along because he had nowhere else to go and no one else to be with right then.

Either way, we came to a used clothing store run by some woman whose normally white hair had been dyed a rather disturbing shade of powder blue. She was deaf as a post-- probably a good thing, too, now I think about it. I grabbed three shirts, two pairs of pants-- made for the dressing room in the back and wasn't surprised when Axel followed.

Down the hall.

Into the room.

He ripped the clothes out of my hands, threw them on the floor, slammed me against the wall. For all of half a second I thought I'd broken the mirror hanging there. And then Axel and his mouth that still had that tangy aftertaste of 'shut the fuck up'-- Axel and that mouth were angry, horny, and pretty.. well. Wrathful? I wonder if that's the right word. Probably not. Pinning words to Axel is next to impossible because he's never as cruel as you think he is.

I tried moving-- I remember that much because he shoved me backwards again and this time I actually _did_ hear the mirror crack and the lights faded out, then back in right along with Axel's face and mouth and breath. His fingers were these bony things gouging holes in my shoulders, tearing holes in my head when he pulled at my hair. When he let go, I remember my head would fall back against the mirror, like Axel's abuse (that's the wrong word and I wish I hadn't used it) had beaten that part of me into submission. My head would roll back, bruised and starting to bleed, just to avoid Axel's shove.

In case you were wondering, yeah. We did end up having sex in the dressing room. No, I don't regret it. No, I don't smile when I think about it-- me and Axel rutting like animals in some back room-- what about that could _possibly_ be worth smiling over? Yet if it wasn't for the mirror-- Axel had me turned around, faced me around. I was staring at my reflection-- _our_ reflections-- framed in cracked glass and wet blood. It was another half-second deal. Half a second to look, half a second to strip, half a second to brace myself, one hand on either side of the mirror.

I watched Axel, I watched me. The two of us swimming in sex and secrecy and silence as Axel's hand clawed at my mouth to make me '_shut the fuck up'_ while he continued panting and breathing and smothering me and driving me against the wall with his hand, with his fingers, with himself-- the mirror, the picture of him glaring and hissing and still '_shut-the-fuck-up-ing_.'

By this point, I'm guessing you're picturing this as some kind of rape. I never thought of it like that. I don't honestly think Axel would ever have it in him to flat out rape somebody. He's just not like that. And that's a flimsy excuse to get out of it, but you'll just have to trust me on it. He's not _like_ that. I think what Axel did he pretty much made obvious to me when I actually locked eyes with his reflection in the mirror. Maybe I looked hurt, but Axel looked worse. Axel looked abandoned. I just looked confused. It was as though the entire thing was just Axel's way of posing a question he'd rather not try and strap into words.

_Do you really want to give this up? If you go have that life, you won't get this anymore. You'll never be able to do something like this again. Not like this. A cheap imitation, maybe, but not like this._

And he was right. If that's the question he was meaning to ask and if those are the words he was meaning to use, he was completely right. And maybe his hand was over my mouth--not so the woman out in the front of the store wouldn't hear us-- but so Axel himself wouldn't hear me speaking his name. Maybe he didn't want to cry like a little baby about it. Nobody does. And nobody did. At least, not that I could see.

It was just me rocking back against Axel, then, rocking up and down against him, on him. I started really _praying_ he wasn't crying or anything because his voice was cracking and breaking when he was saying, "_Fuck_ you, Roxas. _Fuck_ you. _Fuck you_." I took care of myself while riding Axel and I watched it all and saw it play out step by step. For a moment, I almost thought I'd gone and crushed up some flower, some pretty little white blossom of a thing and held the dead parts of it in my hand. But no, it was really just me. Silent, stupid me, standing and dripping on the floor.

From beginning to end, it was all seen through a mirror. And the next morning I left Axel's apartment over the porno shop and headed down the way towards the Roosevelt, walking crooked, feeling, hearing, and still tasting Axel's '_shut-the-fuck-up_.' In a backpack I'd borrowed from Axel were the clothes I'd bought the day before and what little had been salvaged from Axel's killing of my duffel bag. My computer, my music, and my toothbrush. I thought that was it. But later, in my room, I'd pull out the lime green sweatshirt of Axel's that I could've _sworn_ I'd left behind.

I thought that was it, of course. Kairi met me in the lobby, showed me my suite and led me down to the lounge for some promo shoot or another. They were getting started right away, they said. Sandwiched me between Demyx (standing) and Hayner (kneeling).

"_Roxas_," they said.

"_You're perfect_," they said.

"_Got that sex appeal, you know? That morning-after kinda ruggedness_," they said.

'Perfect.' I should've known then. I would've stopped it then... But all I heard and all I saw was the flash and pop of a single bulb and my own silent command for them to all _shut the fuck up_. But before I forget to mention it, I realized then-- at some weird, abstract fraction of a second (probably the one-half point again)-- that I had been right. The longer I kept Axel from sex, the better it was. It all boiled down to how fast and hard he could push it and how silent and secret I could force it.

Some combination of physics and the art of sound.

There's a word for that, I'm sure. 'The art of sound.' I just don't remember what it could be.

x x x

Okay. So you've made it this far. I guess this I where I congratulate you or something. I don't want to sound mean about it, but you really haven't made it that far at all. Sorry.

Anyway.

The day before the photo shoot... the day Axel and I were in the dressing room... That was the day I met Promise. That was the day I became a _part_ of Promise. That was the day I unknowingly sold my soul to the pop-media devil.

We would rise in the ranks, we would be glossed up, laminated, plucked, pinched, idolized and revered, we would have everything we ever wanted and everything we never wanted all at once. We would proceed, each of us, one by one, to destroy ourselves the way the big-shots do it. We would have our girls, we would have our boys, our drinks, and our laughs.

And in the end, we would have our extraordinary fall.

Axel would probably call this waxing poetic. Scratch that. I know he would. You don't have to know Axel to know that. But still. Ours wasn't an empire built in a day. It was just destroyed in one. Nobody _won_. Nobody _lived_ after the fall we took. That was the thing. We each had our reasons for doing what we did, for selling ourselves like we did. But none of us got what we wanted in the end.

If you don't believe me about how fast we fell, take it up with Axel.

He's the one who pushed us over the edge, after all. He's the one who ruined us.

(x) (x) (x)

Ahaha. Yes. It's that wonderful tactic where you're forced to appreciate the journey of the story rather than where it leads to. LOOK! You already know the ending! Boy, you ought to feel powerful. (Oh, and I apologize for the slow pacing of this chapter. I wanted to throw in some little things... and Janey is actually an important character. Important things happened here! You just don't know it!)

So. I swear I'll have the next chapter up soon to fill in the blanks and pick up the pace. Besides. I really wanted it to be Axel who introduced Roxas' unfortunate 'band' members. ...This viewpoint-switching-thing is just too much fun.


	5. Son Of The Theme Song

**Marigold**

'Son Of The Theme Song'

x.Axel.x

Don't ever let anybody tell you everything was my goddamn fault. I'm telling you, nine times outta ten, they're just lying, scheming little bastards who wanna bring about my none-too-brilliant downfall. Fuckers, the lot of 'em. Unless of course you're talking about Roxas. Because if it's _Roxas_ telling you I fucked him over, well, he's probably right and you should listen to the kid because he's got more guts, more moxy, more brains, drive, and _life_ than I'll probably ever get a crack at for so long as my pittery little heart beats in my pittery little chest.

Pittery's not a goddamn word? So what? Who gives a fuck? Pittery. You know. Pa-thwickity. Like that. Pittery. Synonyms of: lame, breakable, shatter-able, snap-able... you catch my drift.

Any-what-way, getting right on down to the dirty old business of telling it like it is-- man oh _man_, did Roxas have a knack for getting himself in more shit than he could handle. I mean. _Really_ now. Luxord was bad news from the start. I could've told anybody that and I'm a frickin' godawful judge of character. Back when I actually had money (cue the stereotypical sitcom laugh-track), I once paid a guy a hundred and twenty bucks to watch my dog when I went to NYC with Larxene for four days and I came home to find the furball dead, hanging from the ceiling fan by his leash. God, was _that_ awful. Poor little guy never saw it coming, I'll bet. As for the asshole who did it, well, who knows where that guy ended up. I never saw him again.

But that's what I'm getting at, see? I suck at telling people's character. I can't pick the bad apples from the good ones any better than an eighty year old woman can pick up her walker from the ground when it falls over. We-- the eighty year old woman and myself-- would _try_-- sure we would-- but we'd end up falling over our asses and breaking something and then we'd just be wailing and crying for help and _then_ where would you be? Laughing at my sorry ass while some psychopath runs around killing puppies. _That's_ where you'd damn well be.

So right. I'll give you the rundown on what went on that day, the day Roxas decided to butt-fuck his own life and condemn himself to hell! Haha. Funny. Well, I'm assuming he told you the basics. The real goddamn basics-- all about Janey, all about the hotel itself. But how about that _band_, huh? That really _unreal_ band of his. Luxord took him in-- under his wing, I guess you'd say. But we're talking leathery _bat_ wings of a goddamn _satanic_ nature here, not just those feathery bullshit wings you were thinking of.

"I'm Kairi!" I remember that kid. He was the worst. He was tiny, to boot. Even Roxas could've owned his ass. And his name annoyed me.

"_Kairi_?" I went. I think I almost snorted a little, but I knew Roxas was bugged by the snorting so it just sounded like I choked on my own spit. Roxas might have rolled his eyes, I dunno. I was too busy trying not to look like an ass.

"...My parents were on crack when they named me, I know. You don't have to tell me," Kairi said with a little girly-man sigh.

"If your parents were on crack, Roxas' parents were on LSD," I said helpfully.

"Shut up," Roxas said, rather unhelpfully, if I do say so myself.

In total, there were four of them-- five, once Roxas joined. The magic number for any heartthrob group at the time. Kairi, Hayner, Tidus, and... Demyx. He recognized me when I saw him, just like I recognized him. Demyx is one of those people you just don't-- _can't_ really forget. We were high-school buddies, Demyx and me. We spent our afternoons drinking and laughing our asses off by the lake. The North side of the lake, you know. Where the average shacks were, where the dinky old schools were. We'd get pine needles stuck to us-- all in our hair, all everywhere. We just sat on the ground and lived it up. Sometimes we wrangled Larxene into wasting a day or so with us, but that was harder, seeing as her parents actually sort of _gave_ half a rat's ass about what their sexy little tramp of a daughter did with strange little boys like us.

I never thought I'd see Demyx there of all places. He'd left after graduation, headed to Hollywood where he said he was gonna make it as a rock star. And maybe it comes from growing up in a tiny nowhere town or something, but we were all naive enough to really believe he'd be the goddamn rock star he wanted it to be. Yeah, it must be that-- must be that small town mindset where you're too oblivious to rest of the great big world to really _know_ about the sharks and the killers and the men who cut you down to get where they're going every damn day.

I hadn't heard from or seen any trace of Demyx until that day. And honestly? He looked _ashamed_ to be there. I didn't miss it-- that look-- and I didn't imagine it. He didn't acknowledge me and I didn't acknowledge him and there was something just so fucked up-- just so _wrong_ about that that neither of us could put words to it. And neither of us ever did. He just got a little pink in the face, a little at loss for words, but then he was all up, all standing, and all over towards Roxas with that grin that had a great big line of a scar down the middle and it hadn't been there the last time I'd seen him.

I still wonder what they did to Demyx when he rolled into Hollywood as a clueless little nobody from a clueless little backwater town like he did. I can't imagine it was anything good. I can't imagine it was much of anything at all. Maybe that's the worst, really. Not being beat down, but being ignored completely and fully, just like the worthless little piece of shit you always knew you were.

"So you're on the one-way train to hell with the rest of us, huh? Big deal," Demyx was saying. "We all get fucked over sooner or later, so if you come in knowing it'll happen, it doesn't smart so bad when it does." He looked kind of like a moron or a hick or something with that haircut. Not exactly the kind of terrifying, freaky, mental-institute escapee he could have been. But he had this way of coming right up behind you and stabbing you in the back with something that sounded really deep, even if it was nothing more that his random... babble.

"Who exactly am I replacing?" Roxas asked him.

"Sora," he said.

"...What happened to him?"

Hayner got up from his chair and for about half a second I thought he was going to hit me or something. Really, that thought had no basis to back it up. But come on. Hayner hit everybody back then. ...Hayner _still_ hits everybody, or so I'm told. The point is, he didn't do it that day. No, he just waggled his fingers like it was something creepy when he said it. "Little innocent sweet sixteen--" he went, "--cutest little boy you never saw. Until somebody stole his heart and ate it."

"--swallowed it whole," Tidus said.

"--didn't even chew." Kairi spoke, but shut up again when he actually caught on that I was mentally scrawling the word 'pansy' across his face in Sharpie. I don't have anything against guys who look girly. Really. I'm an open-minded son of a bitch. Kairi was just annoying and I didn't even know him. But I got this feeling he wanted in Roxas' pants more than anyone else in that room (except me) and my alpha male was showing.

Hayner was still talking something about the guy Roxas was supposed to be in for. At least he wasn't waggling his fingers. He just had his arms crossed, looking like a badass. He kind of was. Hayner was tolerable. He was the only one Roxas really kept in touch with when it was all over, now that I think about it. I asked him once if they screwed around and after glaring and pouting and sulking for a while, Roxas admitted to it. "Once," he'd said. "Just once." And he forced it to drop. Hayner's not my favorite person, but at least he watched out for Roxas when I wasn't around.

..._Gag_, please. I can't believe I'm actually talking positive about another one of Roxas' little scary-hairy-harem. Lord.

Anyway, Demyx brushed it all off. He waved his hand around, laughed at it, turned it into one big joke he pretended he'd had a part in. "Listen to these goons. Always on about something. So, you in or you in, Roxas?"

Yeah. It really was that simple. I didn't even grasp it at the goddamn time-- it felt too surreal, too fucking bizarre to accept. And yet it all rounded up to Demyx-- back from the dead of Hollywood and all the worse for wear-- asking a question that didn't even give Roxas an out. 'You in or you in.' On the one hand you walk into a wall, on the other hand you walk into a closet full of... barbed wire. Or something equally detrimental to your health and shit.

...Well, come on. There wouldn't be much of a story if he'd turned him down. I mean... get real, right?

"...Sure don't leave me much of a choice, do you?"

x x x

Larxene and I met up at a coffee shop later that afternoon. That afternoon when Roxas left and I thought that was that, that maybe he was gone for good, that maybe he wouldn't give a shit about what happened to me after that.

Larxene was looking good-- that much I definitely remember. Probably wearing her classy combo of grays and blacks that she could get away with any day of the goddamn year because she knew how to wear it and she had the body to pull it all off. She was one of those girls who was always wearing makeup (which bugged me), but you could never tell unless you got real damn close. That's the one thing I never got. There's some sort of unspoken rule amongst the vagina-possessing half of the population-- 'You must wear makeup, but _at the same time_ you must look natural and makeup free.'

You must exist while being in a state of nonexistence.

I mean, how fucked up is _that_?

Anyway, there we were, popping out double-shot espresso whatever-the-hells and Larxene up and pops the question.

"So," she said. "What's the big game plan?"

"Game plan?"

"Yeah." Her coffee-crack fingers were tapping against the tabletop like a real addict and her foot was probably bouncing in its heel like it did when she was shot up on caffeine. "Don't tell me...? You're seriously just gonna let this one slide? Well damn," she said. "And here I was thinking you'd actually gone and found a little squirrel to care about. Silly me." I most definitely choked a little as an image came to mind-- a certain image featuring a fuzzy little Roxas with his mouth full of nuts. HAH. And that's funny, get it? Oh yeah. Goddamn, but I'm clever.

"Pfft. Get real. He's a shrimp and a nobody," I told her.

"A nobody fast on his way to becoming a somebody, from what it looks like." She gave me this wicked little smile from over the rim of her styrofoam cup of goddamn coffee, and for about half a second I was almost this close to hating her intuitive woman-guts. "Maybe it's just that you're jealous?"

"I'd rather carve out my eyes with a spork that join up with a _boy_ band, Larxy-baby."

"You were awful sweet to him that night at the party... You guys are cute together, yanno?"

"I tell you Dem's with 'em?" I wanted to change the topic, and for once it looked like I'd gotten away with it. Larxene's eyes first bulged a little, like she was trying to either understand what I'd just said or like she was trying to get over the fact that I'd sprouted another arm that was wiggling out of my back.

Chokey, chokey, baby, baby. "_Demyx_? In a _boy band_? No fucking _way_!"

"_Yes_ fucking way. I _talked_ to him, Larxene." I hadn't, really. I'd just listened to him talk, but Larxene didn't need to know that. "I'm not just shitting around here."

She shut up for a while after that, thinking her deep and wired thoughts while she nursed her craving with her cup. "The system's gonna rip 'em apart," she muttered. "It doesn't go all friendly on nice guys."

I knew Larxene was telling the truth. I'd known Roxas-- and Demyx, really-- wouldn't have the sort of warped, twisted little personalities and selves that that kind of 'work' called for. But Larxene saying it only made it more real, more truthful. Larxene _knew_. She'd been on that road and gotten farther than the rest of us-- she'd poked at the fangs of the metaphorical beast and she'd decided she didn't want to lose a limb messing with it. Larxene had been smart and it looked like the rest of the world was slowly but surely turning stupid.

"Don'tcha just feel like throwing yourself off a goddamn bridge?" I asked.

"Into the icy pits of despair."

"Past the point of no return, or some bullshit like that."

We got a little emotional about things sometimes. Larxene was the only person I could goof off about it with. Everyone else would think I was serious or just way out of line. Not my girl, though. She got it. And she was just as worried about the whole damn thing as I was.

"Well, you know what we gotta do now, right?" she asked.

"No."

"We gotta save Demyx."

"Since when the hell are you all about saving anyone?"

"Look. I'm not saying the guy's not a nut-case or a crazy fruitcake or-- or _any_ of that. _Lord_ _knows_ he _is_. But still. Doesn't it throw you back to the good old days?" I didn't say anything for a minute and Larxene was poking my damn ankle with her pointy-toed shoe. "Hmm? _You_ know what I'm talking about."

"D'ruther not."

"We're talkin' _high school_, Axel. The best days of our fucking _lives_. I would think you'd be all _over_ taking a stab at saving an old friend from himself. ...Or is _Roxas_ the only one you can think of saving?"

"Hell no." I swigged down the rest of my espresso-- must have been half an entire cup of the stuff left-- and felt a little buzzing behind my eyes when the cup hit the table again and I felt madder than hell. Madder than a rather subdued, four-hundred-degree hell. "Look, it was _Roxas_' fucking **_decision_**. He's an adult--"

"Only not."

"--and can fucking take care of himself."

"Struck a nerve, did I?"

"God, you're a _bitch_."

We talked about it for another hour or so. Larxene suggested it to me-- she was the first to think of it and I credit her entirely for everything that went wrong after that point. She told me that the real way-- the _only real way_-- to stop Demyx and Roxas from destroying themselves on the drugs, sex, and mental collapse that came with all fame was to cut down their career _for_ them. Before they could reach that point, she said, I needed to destroy ever shred of fame, every ounce of respect and idolization that any kid in the nation might have developed for them. In order to keep them alive, I had to kill them.

It sounds, abstract, but try to get it, if you can.

That was the revolutionary coffee day, in short. Afterwards, Larxene and I parted ways like we always did. But you know and I know now-- it was Important. Important with a capital goddamn 'I'.

...You know, I'll bet you're thinking that after Roxas up and left, that was it, it was done, and that was the last I ever saw of the little bastard. No? Well, if no, you're a smart little prick. Roxas would randomly show up at all goddamn hours of the goddamn day, barge in, and just-- quiet as anything-- put away... groceries. He always brought groceries. He never talked about it, never made me pay him back (hell knows I couldn't afford to, anyway.) He bought the best, the healthiest. Organic fucking peanut butter. Never mentioned it. Only time he ever even mentioned the damn groceries was when I washed my hands (shocker!) before opening the bag of bread. And Roxas went all, "Axel, dry your hands," and so I go, "Why?"

"Because you'll made the bread moldy."

And that was the first and last Roxas even mentioned his little free-fatten-Axel-up-schemology.

After he dropped off the groceries, he'd usually go on over to the couch where I was usually zonked out fast asleep, usually with a newspaper over my head. I was trying to find a new job, but it sure as hell wasn't as easy as I thought it was. On some level, I guess I was still just hoping my little pushover poppa would call me on up and say I could have my job back. He never called, though. I never heard from him much after I got fired, come to think of it. Maybe he adopted a new son for Kano & Son's Home Exteriors. Who knows.

Either way, on a normal day, Roxas would come chill with me on the couch. No, you horny little shits, we weren't always screwing each other's brains out. I know this'll blow your mind, but we actually talked a hell of a lot during those days before Promise started whoring its pin-up boy self out to the limelight. Roxas was always wanting to open the goddamn window. It was too hot, he said. He couldn't breathe, he said. But I wouldn't let him. I just wouldn't let him open it. Hot and stuffy and world-blockingly _shut off_ was the way I wanted it back then. And there was this one day I remember most-- it must've been two days or something before Roxas went off to Promiseland (laugh, jackasses-- that's as funny as it is ironic) on a hell-bound jet plane.

Even now, I'm still not sure what exactly it was that happened here. I have my theories, but most of them don't even make sense to me because they're stretching the truth and warping reality and all that really fucked up shit. In fact, I can't even remember exactly what it was that happened, it was just that odd. I remember going to the Roosevelt because it was drizzly outside and I didn't feel like lying in my apartment all day if no one was gonna come around. For once, I took action and went to see Roxas by myself. I went in, went up to the receptionist, and asked for his room number-- that much is easy to remember. It's after that when it gets a little fuzzy around the edges.

I knew the Roosevelt from some past flings-- years and years ago, we're talking. And I had once come up with this _brilliant_ idea about running away from home and had stupidly decided to spend night one in a local hotel. I knew the doorknobs were crap-- the entire place was crap, really, all falling apart and reeking of mildew and bad air-fresheners. I jiggled the lock, walked in, said a little something like, "Hey... Roxas."

And there he was. Curled up and crying on the floor. And I didn't know what to do. I honest to God had _no idea_ what I was supposed to do. And I'm not sure why I didn't go comfort him or at least ask him what the fuck was wrong. I didn't. I didn't do anything. I stood there in the doorway watching him bawl his fucking eyes out like it was the most fascinating thing I'd never seen.

Eventually he saw me. He scrambled to his feet and was composed and real and Roxas again. The Roxas I knew didn't cry and it was almost like this Roxas was trying just so damn hard to fit the shoes of the other one. But he'd grown or shrunk as a person and the fit wasn't quite right. _That_ is my lame clarification of that event. I don't know. There are blanks-- I remember what I've told you here and I remember sitting on Roxas' lumpy bed for a while and he was saying something about some movie or another, some movie I'd never heard of. I remember it getting dark and Roxas was still talking-- he just wouldn't stop, you know?

But I can't for the life of me remember what movies it was he was talking about. I don't even know if they were real movies or not. He might have just been filling silence. He might have just been creating his own to fill in the blanks-- the films that should have been but never were. Like I'd know. That's as far as I've ever gotten in thinking that afternoon over. But I think it's important somehow. I don't know how it's important, but it's too weird, too _random_ not to be important, right?

And then he told me to leave.

"Fine," I said.

"And Axel."

"What?"

"Don't let them see you."

"Don't worry. I won't. Wouldn't wanna fuck up your chances."

"Again you mean." He was looking out the window and his arms were crossed. It was like he wasn't even talking to me so much as he was talking to the glass in front of his face when he said, "Fuck up my chances _again, _you mean."

"Yeah. Again." So, pretty much my only explanation for what happened after that was that I was still shaken up from that bizarre meeting with Roxas. When I ran into the dorky little bleach-boy in the hallway, I was worried. And I was pissed _because_ I was worried. 'Worried' fucks with your complexion and your brain, and while I've never really had to suffer through horrible bouts of fucking acne, I didn't want to start then.

"Hey, you!" That was me.

"Uh." And that was him. I think I was poking his puny little chest and I think he looked a little affronted, especially when I actually kept talking at him. And it really sort of sucked because no one ever sounded all that intimidating throwing around the words:

"Yeah! You! You're... uh..."

"Tidus."

"Yeah. And part of this fucked-up excuse for a pop machine."

Tidus was wearing funny little flannel shorts that ended at his knees and a little baby doll tee that made him look gayer than I took him for. And I took him for being really, _really_ flamingly gay. For the record, I was wrong. He was madly in love with some other celebrity chick. And for the record, the only reason I remember this shit is because it was immediately following the memory-haze of Roxas' apparent breakdown in his hotel room.

"Look," Tidus was saying, "if you're gonna be a problem, I can can get some guys up here to kick you in the balls and out the door." He wasn't being mean about it, but that just got me more fucking aggravated because it sucks to be the only one throwing a fucking tantrum in any given situation. Tidus was just getting a little huffy and all, "What's your problem, man? I got nothing against you."

"Well... _I_ have something against _you_!" Classy. But not as classy as what I said after. "Just know that I'm fucking Roxas. And if that interrupts your divine little Hollywood lineup, than you should drop him. Because Roxas is one gay little tramp and he'll give you all STDs."

"...Whoa."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa _indeed_. That kid's a regular _street_walker. God, you guys didn't even do a goddamn _background_ check before you picked him up and--"

"I meant whoa, you're an obsessive freak. Not whoa, Roxas is crawling with sex bugs. ...Look Axel. ...Axel, right?"

"...You remembered my name. How _charming_."

"Anyway. Come on, man. We're not doing anything to you. Lay off already. ...And Roxas isn't gay. He's bi. Lots of people are bi. Especially in the business, man."

My following explosion was not so triggered by Tidus' apparent all-knowing knowledge of something I didn't know a goddamn _thing_ about. It was set off by his apparent knowledge of a guy I'd known longer than him-- a guy who I considered was far closer to me than he was to this pathetic damn excuse for a male. _God_, did Tidus piss me off right then. Next thing I knew I was practically shrieking. I say 'practically' because if I was a girl (or Tidus) I would have been shrieking. Me being the man I was-- and still am-- it was just a very, very angry sort of hiss-snap-explosion.

"The 'business'? The '_business_'? **_Fuck_** the **_business_**! You can't be screwing guys and winning the hearts of teeny bopper bubble-gum fuckin' girls!"

"You're... kinda weird."

"Fuck you."

"And anyway, you're wrong."

"Huh?"

"About being successful. I mean, look at Lance Bass! He made a fortune outta--"

"Lance Bass is _not_ successful." ...Well that was a lie. Way to cover your ass with the transparent Glad-wrap, Axel. Not so glad now, are we? Re-living your own stupidity is a bitch, let me tell you. Anyway, once I realized that the Bass guy could own my Glad-wrap-covered ass and fifty-thousand others like it, I decided to change my tactic. I pulled out statistics.

Word to the wise? If you ever-- and I mean _ever_-- want to confuse some idiots and win an argument, just pretend like numbers are on your side.

"And even if he _was _successful, that's like... one out of five _thousand _similar cases, genius. And Roxas doesn't wanna do music anyway. Once he gets where he needs to be, he'll drop you guys li--"

"Roxas has a contract."

"He signed a contract with you assholes?"

"Yeah. God, are you _ever_ polite?"

"He **signed** a _contract_ with you assholes?"

"Man, you're drivin' me nuts!" He was grabbing at his hair and letting out a little whiney noise that I was _so_ glad Roxas never made. "Okay," he said. "Really, man. Look. I'm a good guy. So I'm not gonna call security on you. In fact, I feel for you. I do. It sucks that your boy up and left you to--"

"He is _not_ my boy." _'He's just mine to fuck and talk to and do with as I please. That's all.'_ I don't know what I was thinking. At least you know I'm not lying. If I could lie about all this, I'd be the picture perfect gent, dammit. I'd be honest back then and a liar right now.

"O-kay. Well. ...It still sucks that Roxas up and left you to come hack it out with us. But that's the way it rolls, man." The kid sorta got this look in his eye that was some kinda puppy-eyed apology after that. He was quiet for a moment, just half a moment, really. It was almost like he was thinking, I guess, but for Tidus that was probably stretching it a bit far. "Listen, Axel," he said. "They're gonna hook Roxas up with a girl once we get started. That's how it works."

"What?"

"Child stardom," he explained. "You learn a thing or two. Roxas'll be going with some pretty girl. In the long run, that's where he's headed. A. Pretty. _Girl_, Axel. Not... you. Catch it? I'm sure you guys are tight and all, but..."

"Look, either your not-real music is rubbing off on you or just a natural idiot. Roxas is going to ruin your career!"

That was about the time that a rickety old door was swung open and revealed to the world a very pissed off and freshly-showered Hayner. His hair was sticking up even funnier than it normally was and he looked about ready to raise hell. But so did I, so between the two of us there could've been a making of a whole 'nother Apocalypse.

"What the hell's going on out here? _Damn_, can't you shut... up?"

"Axel..." Tidus started to explain.

"Hey, the flaming wonder's back in town!" And _lord_, there was _Kairi_, sauntering down the goddamn hallway.

I no longer felt like raising hell, I felt like raising the goddamn universe. I had a plan to do this, too, as a matter of fact. It didn't involve violence on my part, so I was sure not to get arrested or anything. See, I had it in my head that I would go somewhere and eat endlessly. Eventually I would grow so fat-- so goddamn huge-- that the universe would develop enough mass to fucking collapse in on its fucking self.

This is what I was thinking in the hallway of the Roosevelt. I guess I was glaring-- which makes no sense, really, seeing as it was a rather _happy_ fantasy I was planning-- because Kairi shut right up and got a little nervous and all.

"...I was just joking," he muttered. Then he turned to Hayner, who still looked ready to take on the world in the stupid physical way I'd outgrown five seconds ago. "Uh, what's up?"

"Axel's harassing Ti--"

"He's _fine_, Hayner," Tidus said.

God, standing around those kids was like skipping through fuckin' Munchkinland. And I don't mean those little doughnut holes. I mean the squat little people with the funny colored hair and the ugly voices. ...Ironically enough, I have just summed up pop culture by accident. Goddamn. Lookit. Point is, I was annoyed, they were annoyed, and Larxene's plan of sabotage was kind of...

Failing.

And really, I could've decked all the shrimpy little Beverly Hills Boys right then and there. Kicked their tight little anorexic asses into the next goddamn week, for crying out loud. But the thing about beating up the little people is that it leaves you feeling dirty and unsatisfied afterwards. Dirty, unsatisfied, and full of yourself in that pukey, sick kinda way that makes you hate yourself a little.

Yeah. Yeah, that's it. Beating up little people is like wanking off and calling it sex, in all these respects. Just like it. God, but I'm a literary fuckin' genius.

But rather than beating in their heads, rather than causing a universal collapse-- rather than all that, I just went home. I went home and sulked like a pouty little boy-band-boy I never was and (_thankfully_) never will be.

But my visiting Roxas didn't stop. It didn't stop while he was in town at the Roosevelt and it didn't stop even when he went on tour. How'd we work it? Keep your pants on, fuckers, we'll get there eventually. But all you need to know now is right here.

Roxas and I had this thing about making it work.

After the run in with the Cracker Jack boys, Roxas made sure that when I saw him at the Roosevelt, I saw him on friendly terms and friendly terms alone. But when he swung by the apartment with those good ol' grocery bags, it was like he didn't care anymore. He wasn't well-known yet. Because no one knew him, no one cared where he went or what he did. If he'd wanted to parade around the street with twelve-thousand damn bags of groceries, no one would've give a shit, I'm sure.

Like I said, it wasn't all about sex, though. If had only been about sex, would there really be any goddamn point in me walking through all this just for the one solid sake of saying "It was a damn good fuck"? No. No, there wouldn't be any point. Rather than going sappy on you, I'll skip out on that part.

It was near the end of Roxas' stay at the Roosevelt, but I didn't know it... I'm pretty sure he knew it at that point, but he kept it to himself. As far as I was concerned, he was going to back out of this boy band crap before they got rolling. He was going to come around, regain his senses, re-grow his brain.

And yet there was this one day it was raining and we were lying on the couch-- rather, I was lying on the couch and Roxas was lying on me because my couch isn't that damn big. He must've had his ear against my chest or something. I can't think of what else would've prompted what he said. But there it was, clear and blue and out in the overcast daylight for the world to hear.

"Your heart beats funny."

"How's that?"

"I dunno. It just does."

"Maybe that's 'cause you're squashing it."

"What do you think would happen if I cut out your heart. Like... right now, if I just reached in and took it out or something?"

"I'd die. Duh."

"But if you didn't die."

"If I didn't need my heart to live?"

"Yeah."

"I dunno." I tried to shrug, but I'm pretty sure the movement got swallowed by the couch cushions. To be honest, it wasn't that I wasn't interested in what Roxas was saying. I was. I just didn't get it. And he didn't say anything more on the matter, he just put his head back down and eventually went to sleep. But I hoped-- and still hope, I guess-- that Roxas wasn't thinking that I didn't care. I hoped he wasn't thinking about what a shallow loser I was. About what a self-centered, oblivious dumbfuck I was.

I wasn't trying to be any of that crap. Roxas was just too much for me back then. Try as I might, he was always one step ahead and thinking the deeper thought. I couldn't keep up and I think that frustrated him more than anything.

...And so that was about the time that I took up smoking. Again.

"When did you start smoking?" went Roxas.

"When I dropped out of college," went I.

Ah, nicotine is like that whore you can never buy enough of. That slut, I mean. That slut you can never buy enough of. Kinda like Roxas, then. I told him this once and he just threw something at me. It was either a glass vase or a pillow, I can't quite remember which. Of course, since we _are_ talking about _my_ apartment here, I guess we can rule the glass vase out. Even if I'd bought one of those tacky-ass things, I doubt it would've lasted long.

Well, Roxas left the smoking issue alone for a good-- oh, let's see. I'm gonna say three days, tops. Then he brought it up again.

"You know, Axel, those things fit you well because you're so skinny. Is that why you smoke them?"

I eyeballed my pack of Virginia Slims and tried not to let my left eye go all twitchy on me (which it likes to do when I'm not looking... or something.) He poked fun for a while and that was damn odd enough in and of itself, seeing as he was Roxas and Roxas didn't-- and still doesn't-- poke fun just to... poke fun. And if fun was a guy-- capitalize the 'f,' make it Fun-- then at that point in time, Fun would've been surrounded by a sea of horny Roxases. ...Roxases... There's a mouthful. Roxi-- pronounced 'rocks-eye.' A sea of horny Roxi poking Fun. Now that, ladies and gents, was a fine hell of a tangent.

(To be the grammatical king... grammatical-- yeah, I'm gonna reword that because it sounds too much like 'drag king' and while Larxene's my gal pal and all-- gag-- I'm not her. Haha on your half-straight-dominatrix-half-dykey-butch-girl-half-can-of-kickass-ass, Larxene of one and one halves. Where was I. Right. Grammatical emperor Axel steppin' on in. The plural-- big word, kids-- the _plural_ of Roxas, is, of course, Roxi, seeing as similar noun-like-things also do the same 'eye' thing. Observe. Octopus, octopi. Pegasus, pegasi.)

(...And then you have the freakazoids like moose and no one knows what to do with _that_ goddamn word-- it's so fucked up. If a guy yelled, "Hey, fucker! Watch out for the herd of _mooses_!" then the other guy would be too busy trying to say, "Actually sir, the plural of 'moose' is really still--" And splat. A herd of mooses would've rolled on over him by that point. So that, in conclusion, is why two Roxas-boys would make a Roxi. End super rant.)

It eventually got to the point-- after that three day mark I mentioned and after he spent a couple hours hounding me about it-- where Roxas actually became confrontational about my smoking. He said a little something like, "I don't want to be sucking face with you all the time if you taste like a cherry bomb exploded a bathroom in your mouth. Call me when you're nicotine-sober." ...Obviously, these were not Roxas' real words because I doubt he would be creative enough to bring explosives into the matter. I also doubt he would have said 'nicotine-sober,' seeing as he probably would've known the actual word for that. At any rate, he said something to that extent, that "We're totally not banging until you clean up your ash-covered-act" extent and walked right on out my door.

He was back two days later (with groceries in tow) and we had a delightful round of make-up sex. Not that we had a fight or a relationship that had been on the line or anything. I just call it make-up sex because I don't know what else to call it. Maybe we were just making up for all the sex we'd missed in those two days-- who knows. Either way, we won't mention the fact that when Roxas returned to me that day, I was no longer a smoker. ...Yeah. I'd like to pretend I have resolve, but what can I say. My resolve, when held beside Roxas' resolve, is like a lima bean held beside a pumpkin. A very, very shriveled little lima, I'm afraid.

Now then. This is where it starts to get messy. We're not talking your mother's under-the-kitchen-sink-mold-messy here. We're talking more along the lines of decaying-squirrel-carcass-under-the-floorboards-messy. _That_ kinda messy. Here goes.

There was a day, about a week after the day of smokeless make up sex and four days after the bizarre heart incident, I think, when Roxas didn't show up at my apartment. No big, I figured. He was probably busy with his girly boys. And then that one day rapidly advanced to being two days, then three days. On the fourth day it was no longer a matter of Roxas 'just being with his girly boys,' it was a matter of Roxas possibly 'just fucking with his girly boys.' And I told myself that if that was the case, I had a steak knife in the kitchenette that was sure to do a fine job of castrating someone.

Still, I decided to give Roxas the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was in the hospital for some bizarre reason and just hadn't gotten around to calling yet due to some freaky incapacitation. If that was the case, I thought hospital sex had the potential of being ridiculously fun and kinky. Nonetheless, out came the cell. Button-be-button-be-speeddial-button. Modern technology was, is, and always will be my bitch.

"Hello?"

"Roxas."

"Hey, Axel."

"Hey yourself." That sounded too desperate. I had to check myself. And kick myself. Never a good thing, when you're just wearing socks. You hurt your toes. Anyway, the key, I figured, was to sound like I didn't care. "So," I said, "hooow's the fivesome going?"

"We're in Florida."

"WHAT." That was about the point at which my plan of not-caring ended and my plans of castration were coming back to surface. Lord, was I pissed. Beyond pissed, as a matter of fact. I was fucking livid-- and that's a word I rarely use, but I think it fits here just about right. "What the _fuck_ are you doing in fucking _Florida_?"

"We're recording our first single."

"Roxas. Need I remind you. _You. Can't. Sing._"

"I know that."

"You don't even _want_ to do music, you--"

"Axel, we've _had_ this conversation..." Now, you know and I know that that was a very girly thing to say on Roxas' part. Oddly enough, Roxas knew it too. Right away he went all I'm-going-to-now-make-a-pathetic-attempt-at-being-manly on me and got all defensive and shit. "It's not like you really wanted me to stay, Axel. Right?"

...Whoa. Wait a minute. Pause, fuckers. Reread what he'd just said right there. Not only did it still sound girly (which, trust me, it did), but Roxas directly called me out on dependency, of all goddamn things. Of course I wasn't about to tell him that I hadn't eaten in twelve hours because I'd run out of food and he hadn't brought me my groceries. I'd sooner kick myself with a thousand sock-clad feet than admit that. But still.

That did raise on hell of a question. Did I still want Roxas with me? My brain, my libido, my just-about-everything pretty much said yesRoxasmmmRoxas all over it. The kid brought me free food, free sex, and just... generally good company. Sure, he could be a little stubborn or demanding or weird on occasion. But the way you gotta measure everyone, I figure, is by that little 'pros and cons' system they taught us all back in grade-school-- back when they actually thought they could teach us how to make good decisions. What a load of crap that was, huh?

Anyway, it really is just like that. And in Roxas' case, he had a whole lot of pros to outweigh the cons and then some. What was not to _like_ about that? Of course, I didn't tell him this. I didn't tell him any of this. I just sort of went all stupidly silent on the phone like all genuine morons do when it's painfully goddamn obvious that they have nothing to say. My little brain had his words on repeat to fill the silence-- "It's not like you really wanted me to stay, Axel"-- and just when I thought I'd come up with a good comeback, I had to shoot it down. I figured that "Your mom really wanted you to stay," was about as lame as it was hurtful in this case, seeing as, well, according to Roxas, his Mom really didn't want him to stay and that was how this whole problem got started in the first place.

So instead I said, "Fuck you, Roxas," and hung up.

Ouch. How daytime soap opera of me.

If I could go back and change it, maybe I would. But knowing me, I'd probably still end up making the same goddamn mistake again. Speaking of 'agains,' I started smoking _again_, again. I think it was mostly just to spite Roxas from over a thousand miles away. It was also probably because I was lonely (Larxene had gone overseas again by that point) and feeling pretty stupid. When I feel stupid, it effects everything I do. I tie my shoes slower, I forget the simple things easier, I put my pants on backwards more often... And all of this was _happening_. Shit was _happening_. And all of this stemmed from the residue stupidity left over from my polite "Fuck you, Roxas," on the phone. I even started talking dumber. And I figured that if I at least had a cigarette in hand while talking dumb, then that would negate some of the dumbness.

There's just something about the hand motion that comes with the cigarette being there-- that kinda circular, kinda wavy kinda motion. It makes any gent with shit for brains look a helluva lot smarter. Like they really know their stuff, yanno? I think that's the real reason why so many great politicians were smokers back in the day. I mean, if you popped a Virginia Slim in the president's hand, he might start looking capable. If he smoked, I bet his approval ratings would go up.

...And that is why I will probably never work on anyone's campaign committee. _Ever_.

So there I was for a week or so, feeling sorry and stupid and waving around my cigs for the hell of it, when I noticed that I was starting to run out of money. In fact, I couldn't pay that month's rent. When I discovered this, I not only realized that cigarettes were not brain enhancers, but I also realized that those little bastards were damn expensive. So I quit (again) and headed on down the stairs of my rinky-dink lil' makeshift apartment to explain all this to the landlord. Just as I was about to bullshit my way to freedom with a little made-up something about lingering brain damage from the lightning strike, the guy cut me off.

"So, you don't have the money?"

"Er. No. That's what I said."

"And you don't have a job?"

"...I'm in between jobs."

"Good. Then you can forget this month's rent and take care of the shop for a week while I go on vacation."

...That was the last I ever saw of my landlord.

A month-- a whole freaking month went by and there was nothing. Nothing. Now that I'm recollecting this month and all, that's really all I can call it. The Month of Nothing. The Big Zero. Either way you look at it, it was a godawful four weeks. By the time the end of the Nothing Month had rolled around, I'd had so much time to think that I'd reached a couple of very important conclusions.

Conclusion number one? Mr. Landlord was not coming back. He'd taken everything but the shop and skipped town, probably expected stupid old me to fight off the IRS in his place. Conclusion two? The store was not successful because everything was too out of date. No one wants to watch porno from the seventies. The film quality's bad, but not bad enough to blur out the pimples that existed before acne cream did. I had one of two options. Sell the joint and run like hell or risk everything on renovating it into something that would at least rake in a profit.

Conclusion number three was sort of a sub-conclusion to conclusion number two. I took the risk. I pitched what I couldn't sell on eBay from the store's stocks and spent a week with just me and the paintbrush, fixing the place up and packing new orders. Come the following Monday, the new sign read The Emporium, just as it had before, but no longer did the place only sell trashy mags and videos. It was a fully functional, fully operational sex shop built to suit nearly every crowd. It was also a raging success.

It had taken me about that long, about five weeks, to accept the fact that Roxas had locked me out of his life for good. After my lame hang-up, I hadn't had the guts to call him back and Roxas hadn't had the desire to call me again. I had kind of hoped he would. Scratch that. I had really hoped he would. I'd wanted Roxas to give up trying to be manly (because it just didn't work out for him-- ever) and come crawling back, asking me what was wrong. Then again, if he'd done that, I probably wouldn't have ever forgiven him for being such a pansy.

God, I hate myself more and more every second I think about this crap now.

But, as fate would damn well have it, Roxas wormed his way into my life once again. Indirectly, this time, and blaring through the headphones of two teenage girls who strolled on into the store. They looked way too young to be there and I was just about to courteously kick them out on their skinny asses when I overheard their mindless conversation.

"--all so... like... _hot_, yanno? Especially Kairi."

"Oh my gawd, _really_? But he's so, like, _girly_! Demyx is _all_ man."

I blinked. There they were then, right in front of the counter, each of them grabbing a fistful of condoms. "Hey there!" one of them said. She was busty and blonde and reminded me too much of Janey for comfort. "We hear you sell the best condoms in, like, the whole town?"

"You bet," I heard myself say. I really doubt I had all that much control over my own actions. I was still trying to process what they'd been talking about when they'd first entered the goddamn store. I hardly cared about the chances of them getting knocked up with or without the condoms I sold. BUt after I rung them up, there I was, talking again, all of some will that sure as hell still wasn't my own. "You know Promise?" I asked them.

The shorter, brown-haired girl smacked her gum around and shot me a look. "Of course," she said. "Who _doesn't_?"

"I haven't heard them. I mean, I've heard _of_ them-- but I haven't _heard_ them."

"They're only on the radio, like, _all_ the time," the Janey-wannabe said. I asked them if I could listen to the CD, just for a minute, and had to give them each another three free condoms before they let me. "Only for a minute," the short girl said. On went the headphones, down went the play button.

WHAM.

My brain was a cesspool of sugar oh-yeah-yeah-yeah's and mindless, senseless bubble-gum pop you could choke to dead on. First was Kairi's voice, the girliest of them all-- a chorus-- and then, sure enough, Roxas. There was no doubt about it. As much as they had polished and warped and twisted his voice, there was no way that could be anyone but Roxas. "There's something you need to know, babe, you're the earth beneath my sky, yeah, you're the river--" That was what Roxas had said. Those were the first digitalized words I heard little-boy-and-girl-toy-Roxas sing, and dear _lord_ but how I wanted them to be the last.

Once the girls had reclaimed their CD and disappeared in a giggling flurry of fangirl glory, it was all I could do to keep from falling over on the spot and willing myself to stop breathing. All I could think about was how goddamn stupid Roxas was for getting himself mixed up in all that, for whoring himself out like that. Like... like... but god, what they'd done to his fucking perfectly imperfect voice! I couldn't remember a time I'd felt worse.

...Well. Actually. I could. Remember what I told you about that guy hanging my puppy from the ceiling fan? Yeah. This was _almost_, but not quite, as bad as that. I kid you not, kid. It hurt-- it physically fucking _hurt_ to hear Roxas like that.

And that's why my cell phone was out of my pocket before I knew what was what, just about ready for a speed dial I thought I'd never use again. And, call it another sick twist of fate if you will, but it was at that exact moment that my phone started ringing again. It was Roxas. After five nothing-weeks, Roxas had blown right back in out of nowhere. Kind of like the nicotine slut-boy with the cherry bombs lined up in the bathroom of my brain.

Light, flush, explode.

(x) (x) (x)

A shorter chapter than most (I think?) but oh well. This is a connection chapter with a lot of important whatnot, I guess. At least, I'm pretty sure it is.

Sorry I couldn't get this out sooner-- juggling college applications, regular schoolwork, and some lumpy little thing that I think _might_ resemble a social life-- yep. But once I get past the October-November crunch months for all this college stuff, it should be smooth sailing with more frequent, regular updates. Thanks for staying patient!


	6. Visionary Boy

**Marigold**

'Visionary Boy'

x.Roxas.x

Kairi had this way of fooling people.

And sometimes, I had this way of being really easily fooled.

But Kairi was like this random incident-- this random _thing_ that just happened-- that didn't fool me, that Kairi couldn't pull off, that... well. Okay. So. What happened is this.

The first night we got to Orlando, we all got to our suites in the middle of the night. Some of the rooms were connectors-- mine connected to Kairi's. To make a long story short, I-- well, I kind of thought the door was a closet. And, you know, I had things to hang up, things to put away-- ordinary closet-stuff to get done and then just-- _bang_-- this closet door was not, in fact, a closet door. It was a bedroom door. More importantly, it was Kairi's bedroom door. And... even more important than that, it was Kairi's bedroom door with a pair of...

Uh.

Okay. Yeah. So. I kind of walked in on Kairi changing, I guess. I don't guess, I know. And Kairi was holding a pair of girls' panties-- which is odd, but not as odd as you might think when it comes to dealing with guys in boy bands. The only thing was that, well, they were bloody. And Kairi was just... staring at me. And... I was just staring at Kairi.

And that's kinda when I realized.

Kairi wasn't a guy.

"Y-you're..."

"Roxas..."

"You're..."

"Roxas, please, _please_ don't freak out, okay? Just like... s-sit down for a second and I swear I'll explain, I mean it."

"And that's your..."

"Roxas, _please_--!"

"Holy--!"

And it was about that time that I was tackled into a wall, thereby realizing that-- for a girl-- Kairi can tackle unbelievably hard. You've never been tackled so hard in your life. That's what I mean. So with Kairi slamming my skull against a wall and her bloody underwear getting so close to me, well, yeah, of course I freaked out. I think I was a little-- if not _completely_-- out of it.

"--there's girl blood on those things and--!"

"Roxas, calm down, would--?"

"--eggs?"

"Jesus, Roxas!"

"_Je_sus, Kairi!"

And after we were done staring at each other for a while I sort of adjusted to it, settled down, and pretty much accepted the fact that I was 'singing' alongside some kind of feministic drag king gone pop-ballad-ballistic with a flat-bound chest and a voice warped to hell and back. Seeing as Kairi was actually one of the few of us who could really sing, she already had some points stocked up respect-wise for her. She and Demyx were the only ones of us with any kind of skill at all. At first I had thought nothing of it-- some weird coincidence that Luxord didn't know or care about.

So Kairi could hit those high notes with a fluidity the rest of us faked with a mixer and Vexen's mad computer skills? What of it, right? ...Not so right, apparently.

Kairi had tried to cut it in the music business right after graduating high school. She'd graduated a year early, turned out to be a really smart girl, turned down a lot of scholarship offers and who knows what-- all for record labels and platinum she wanted so badly. She'd kept at it and kept at it and there she was, nineteen and still nothing to her name when Luxord found her. She'd tried to break it big on the indie scene, but there were too many girl-plus-guitar gigs for her to get far. She wasn't too hot at writing lyrics and her guitar skills were only average.

Great voice, great sound-- that's what they all told her. But you don't have what it takes. That's what they said. Over and over and over. And I think about it now and God, but I can't help but feel so sorry for her, you know? I'm not big into pitying all over people or anything, it's just... You say that sort of stuff to someone-- 'You're good, but not good enough-- you don't have what it takes-- you don't have that special twist and flair-- you've tried and you've tried your best, but your best won't cut it'-- you say that stuff to people and they can't help but believe it and they can't help but try and fail harder and harder.

And that's how it was with Kairi. She got nowhere. Just like Demyx, she was running with the world and her wild-kid dreams up until she slammed into the wall of reality going full tilt to failure. Luxord picked her up in a park of all places. I guess she must've been wearing a sweatshirt or baggy pants or who knows what. But somehow he got it in his thick head that she was a he and it was all downhill from there.

All one-sided propositions and promises and bargains and by the time Kairi got a word in edgewise, she'd already picked up on what Luxord what getting at and she'd already picked up what she had to do to pull it off. Luxord wanted her to sing as a guy? It was fine with her. She'd be a guy.

That's just how Kairi was.

And she was saying all this to me-- me, of all people-- and spilling her guts out and I just... of course I had no clue what the heck I was supposed to do. What do you do when you're stuck with something like that? Something you know is so wrong, but something you just can't help but encourage? How could I have sold her out then? We were just at the start of it all-- this was before we'd even cut our first single, before people even knew who we were. I couldn't just rob her of her one chance and get off with no problem, you know?

So that's kind of what I told her.

When she'd told me her story, I'd nodded and accepted that as that.

"Okay," I'd said. "I won't tell."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

How corny, right? To be in a band named Promise where all we ever did was lie.

x x x

A week or so day after Kairi's confession, I met Zexion for the first time. We'd been jumping hotels in Orlando after cutting that first single-- that pop ballad of a radio number-- and finally settled for this kind of swank, kind of upper-crust thing. I know that's what Axel would have called it. It was crisp and clean and white and new and to this day I don't think I've ever hated anyplace more than I hated that place. It was too much and I still can't quite explain the 'why' of it all.

But anyway, Zexion. I had been taking a shower-- taking a long shower, I remember, because I was tired and sore from singing when I couldn't sing and dancing when I couldn't dance. I couldn't do any of that but it's what I had to do. It's like... being pushed in one direction, dodging to another direction, and hitting and tripping over something along your way. You see it coming, you know it's coming, but you can't catch your balance and you just find yourself with more bruises and more stupid things on you than you can count.

So there I was, me in a towel with a stranger in my bedroom. "Uh. ...Hello? _Excuse_ me." the kid wasn't listening-- at least, I was pretty sure he was a kid-- he was even smaller than me. He was just tugging at the bedspread and for about half a heartbeat I had this insane fear in my head that Kairi had gone and hired me a male prostitute. Which... would have been bad on so many levels. Fighting down a panic attack, I shouted at him, you know? I wanted him to get the hell out.

"HEY! Who are you?

"Zexion," he said. And he just looked at me like that should have been alright. In fact, he had such a way of looking like that, I almost thought it _was_ alright. And then I realized he was kind of staring at my towel and I got stupid and self-conscious and defensive. A little.

"Okay. So?"

"So what?"

"So what are you doing in my room?"

"I have to--"

He was moving closer and by that point my paranoia was attacking me like no other. I had never been a paranoid person-- that's what you don't get. Sure, I worried about shit, but once I started the whole... the whole band thing, it was a completely different story. Luxord was training us to act smart, to keep the private fuck-ups to ourselves. And all I could think about then was that Zexion was going to put himself in a position that would make him my fuck up. If that makes sense. If it doesn't, I guess you just don't know Zexion. The kid's a very attractive kind of guy. Even Axel said so at one point, I think.

Everyone secretly lusted after Zexion. It was just kind of the way things were. So you can't blame me all that much for cluching at my towel and jerking away from him. I hit the doorknob with my back-- that much I definitely remember, both because it hurt like anything and because Zexion was just staring the whole time, the whole time I was freaking out with--

"Hey! Look, I dunno who the heck you think you are, but you can't just barge in here like you _know_ me or some--"

"Roxas."

"--thing." ...So. Apparently he knew me, right? Just you wait. "...Okay, look. I don't know who you are. If you could just... go, or something," I told him.

And then when he did it.

"Here."

"What's this?" It was, if you really wanna know, a basket of fruit. All the fruit was that really high polished junk that tastes more like wax than fruit. But it was the kind that looked really pretty sitting in the basket like it does. A real number of a fruit basket. And Zexion was just staring, staring, staring, and by that point I was absolutely sure he thought I was a moron, because when I asked him what it was, all he did was stare and stare some more before he said:

"It's a _kitten_."

"...A kitten?"

At least he closed the door behind him. There was no sense in showing all the world what I looked like towel-clad. But it took me a good minute or so-- me in a towel with a basket of fruit-- to understand that I had just been royally snubbed for the first time in my life. ...Okay, I take that back-- there was one girl in fifth grade who slapped me after I tried to give her my first kiss-- but still. I'd never been snubbed like that. And I wouldn't be snubbed like that again for a long, long time.

In short, that's how Zexion and I became... well, friends. Of a sort. And, like all of my-- oh, two, maybe three friends at that time-- Zexion had to be discussed with Kairi. Because. ...Well. I'm not sure. That's just another one of those "This is how it functions" kind of functions.

So.

"Hey Kairi?"

"Morning, Roxas!"

"Uh, yeah. Do you know anyone named Zexion?"

"Sure. That's Janey's baby bro."

I told you to wait for it, didn't I?

Needless to say, I choked a little on my orange juice and really, really lost my appetite. Across the room, I could see Janey hanging off her 'adopted cousin's' arm while Luxord gabbed it up with some loser who I could only assume was important somehow in my career. She was her normal blonde and busty self, and when she realized I was looking at her, she did that thing that some girls just do, you know. That grinning, giggling, finger-wiggling kind of hello that really makes me want to shoot myself.

And Zexion was her brother.

"WHAT. Is this like... some sort of weird... family _business_?"

"Not from what I get," she said. Kairi nibbled at the crust of her toast, but didn't really look all that into it. So instead of actually consuming the thing, she just started scraping at the burnt edges with a fingernail. That being upper-class toast, there weren't a great many burnt edges on it, so it wasn't all that long before she dropped it back onto her plate with a clink and a sigh. "Janey's not involved in it. She just found you. And Zexion's just here 'cause... well, this is Janey's hometown. Her family owns this hotel we're in. Pretty swank, huh?"

"If this is Janey's hometown, what the heck was she doing up in Michigan?"

"I try not to pay much attention to Janey." Kairi cast the woman a sort of... catty glance... before looking back at me with a shrug and just saying, "I don't really know. But if you ask her, I bet she'd tell you. Want a croissant?"

"...No thanks."

Hayner and Tidus walked in about that time and there were no more catty looks from Kairi. There was just her bony little hand clapping me on the back and her low-cast voice rumbling in that space between my ears-- "I wouldn't worry about it, Roxas! Come on, man! We've gotten this far on Luxord's team. He'll get us where we need to go. Have a little faith, huh?"

"Yeah. Faith..."

She was blowing bubbles in her orange juice and tapping one boot against the table leg-- kind of annoying because I was trying to cut my bacon and she just wouldn't quit shaking the table and making a racket. When she wasn't blowing bubbles, she was talking, and her speaking as a man-- a boy, really, I guess you'd call her-- was still sort of.. weird to me. It wouldn't have been so weird if I could've been stupid like everyone else, but once you know a person's gender, hey, there's just no saving it then, I figure.

"Hey, Yuffie's probably coming with me to that charity Friday," she said. "Naminé's gonna be there. You two got plans?"

"I guess."

"You guys are cute, man. Look up a little!"

For those of you who don't know-- and honestly, I don't really know how you could _not_ know-- Naminé was this... well, she was this sweet little actress girl who Luxord set me up with. Now that I think about it, he was probably trying to pacify me by getting it my head that Naminé would get me into showbiz. That she would be my gateway to the director's chair. She wasn't, but that doesn't mean she wasn't one of the sweetest girls I'd ever met. She was tiny and blonde and had a bad habit of snorting coke, but she hadn't gotten caught back then and the public liked her skinny arms and long legs. That was all anyone could ask for and Naminé could deliver a pretty good performance when asked.

She was the love-song chick in every movie's theme-- that one unreachable girl that's always happy and always undeserving of the shit she's dealt.

I told her I wanted to be a director the first time I met her. She just smiled that award-winning smile and she said, "I could see you as a director, Roxas. Yep. I can see that." ...And I still think that was probably one of the nicest things-- if not _the_ nicest thing-- anyone has ever said to me.

I think it goes without saying, but Naminé deserved better than me. She just... she did. That's all. But I don't think there's a single man on the face of the earth worthy of the girl. Maybe she was cursed, maybe she wasn't. Maybe she was secretly just as screwed up as the rest of us. But maybe what it all hinged on was her acting ability and how damn well she could cover it up.

My phone rang about halfway through breakfast, which was pretty much odd in itself because the only people who really called me were right in that room. Demyx, Tidus and Hayner were up by the buffet table, Vexen and Luxord were talking by the window and Janey was examining her face's reflection in the bottom of a bowl. Common sense says I should've guessed it, but before I could really guess at all, I'd gone and read the name on the new call screen.

"Axel...? Axel!"

"Roxas!"

"H-hey, how's it... going?"

"Good, good... it's goin' good. And, uh, you?"

"Yeah, it's alright. I mean, great. No, it's really cool."

"Ah... I heard your..." The single. Right away I knew what he was talking about. And right away I wanted to drive a pitchfork through my skull for ever having anything to do with that stupid song in the first place. That stupid single.

"You heard that?"

"Yeah."

"The full CD's coming out in three weeks," I told him. And then, "It's kind of a big deal."

"Sounds like a party."

"Yeah, there'll be one of those." I'd up and left the dining room altogether by that point and I'd reached the elevator and contented myself with riding it up and down, listening to Axel and listening to the hum of the machine around me. It was a glass contraption rigged up alongside the hotel-- a really gorgeous thing that lit up all bright a beautiful at night and glided smooth as a dream. For a second or so, the quiet static of the phone and distant hum of the engine was all I heard, and all I saw was the city outside the glass pane, people moving and circling and grower smaller still as I rose above them. It felt a little lonely, and that was odd. So I pulled myself back to Axel, back to the phone, back to what I'd been saying to begin with. "Parties around here are kinda... dull, though."

"Really?"

"Yeah! I mean, yeah, you know. The, uh, the one you..."

"You had more fun at Larxene's?"

"Yeah."

"I'll let her know next time she's in town."

'Idiot,' I remember thinking. 'That was supposed to be directed at you, not her. I had fun because of _you_.' But of course I didn't say that. I never said that. No one ever says anything they really mean to say. "She's out of town?" I asked instead.

"In like... India, or something."

"India?"

"Meeting up with some buddies, I guess. They're just traveling around Asia for a while. She said they might even get on a flight to Egypt before they come back."

"...Wow." I didn't want to hear about Larxene, though. I didn't know Larxene, and frankly I didn't really care if I ever got to know Larxene. Axel had called me, not Larxene. I wanted to know about Axel. So, for once, it felt like, I took the initiative and I pushed that non-existant envelope and I shoved and demanded an answer. "But... what's new with you?"

"Uh, birthday comin' up in five days."

"Oh yeah-- happy birthday, man."

"Uhh, and I have a job."

"Really? That's great! What is it?"

"I own a store."

"_Seriously_? Axel, that's... that's really... good to hear."

"Hey Roxas?"

"Yeah?"

"You sound so fuckin' desperate."

"...Oh."

"They're really killin' you out there, huh?"

"No. It's not like that, Axel."

"You so sure?"

"Of course I'm sure."

"Look, what I'm saying is, don't go making a goddamn martyr out of yourself, Roxas. 'Cause from here? That's what it looks like you're doing," he said.

"That's not true."

If he heard me, he didn't care. "The thing is-- the thing is, like..." I heard him swallow, and in my mind's eye-- that eye between your eyes, you know-- the invisible, all-seeing kind of an eye-- I saw the way his throat moved and watched his tongue hit the roof of his mouth and I saw that mouth open and all of a sudden it was like I was hit with this... weird, painful kind of desire to see him again. Maybe I just missed people who-- whose opinion I didn't care about. Maybe. I don't think it was just Axel though. I know that back then I refused to even think it could be Axel. Even when he said it. Even when he said:

"No one's going to fucking care, Roxas. Okay? No one there cares about you. And when you fall-- which you will-- no one is going to give a flying fuck. No one but you and no one but me. And do you know why? Because I fucking care, Roxas. I fucking care."

The funny thing... the really funny thing is, I thought he was joking. I really, truly, honestly thought he was putting on an act. I thought he wanted me to laugh. He thought I was being too serious. He wanted to lighten the mood. Really, it wasn't all that unbelievable at the time-- that was what Axel did, what he made himself do.

I thought he was clowning around.

"Well then you're... You're an idiot." I was fiddling with that little CD player of mine I had looped around a belt-loop-- I had to get Axel's voice out of my head, but I had to not hang up on him at the same time. It was a weird urge, but seeing as it had just followed up the urge to see Axel in the first place-- well, I don't know. I was kind of figuring someone had laced my orange juice with something. It was probably Zexion. I wasn't too sure about that kid at the time. That much I'm sure of.

But whatever kind of mind's eye Axel posessed himself, it must've been pretty keen. Maybe it was more of a mind's ear. Because right away he picked up on it-- that voice, those chords-- that smooth piano interlude that just didn't belong anywhere in my screwed up life.

"What're you listening to?" he asked. And I could tell he already knew the answer.

"Nothing." Rufus crooned away-- that one song about the rebel prince and the windows and flowers. And I thought about his eyebrows and Axel's ladder and then I got to thinking about how weird it was to be thinking about those things, so I shut on up. I listened to Rufus and I listened to Axel.

"That's not pop," he said. As if it really meant something, you know. "You should be listening to fucking pop, you know that?"

"I don't have to like it."

"Good. 'Cause if you did, I'd have to frickin' shoot you."

And then... something weird came over me.

"...Hey Axel?"

"Yup?"

"Can you come here? Like. Now?"

"...Uh. No."

"Why?"

"What the fuck makes you think I can fly to Florida."

"I'll pay."

"You would."

"I mean it, I'll pay."

"...Why?"

"Why do I want you here or why will I pay?"

"Both."

"I'm bored." That sounded awful, even to my ears, and I wasn't even singing or lying. But it was a stretch and a half-truth-- not even that really, more like a tenth of a truth-- and I knew it wouldn't be good enough for Axel. But I knew I didn't really give a damn about him-- I mean, I knew that, you know? He'd screwed up my life. Completely ruined it on every single, possible level. And as some sort of pacifier, he slept with me, sheltered me... He was like a rentable spouse. But a rentable spouse I had come to know at least... somewhat well by that point. So it would only stand to reason that I knew exactly what to say and how to say it. What to say to get him where I wanted him.

So there it was. "And... I'm not a cheapskate."

"Good to know," he said. A kind of hesitation, then a: "Won't Luxord have a problem with it?"

It occurred to me then that people _would_ have a problem with it. If not Luxord, then Naminé. If not Naminé, then Hayner. If not Hayner, than the rest of the band and if not the rest of the band then the rest of the nation when they found out that all I really wanted was Axel and the sex he brought with him in a little Ziploc baggy labeled 'condoms, condoms, condoms.' ...You think I'm lying, but I'm not. Axel really does have a bag just for condoms. It's not Ziploc, though. It's printed with mutli-colored polka-dots and seals. I hate that bag. But if you don't believe me, ask Axel. He doesn't lie. At least, not about the condom bag.

"Luxord doesn't have to know," I told him. I remember telling him that. In those words. So many times. '_They don't have to know. They don't know. They won't know.' _If I wasn't telling it to him, he was telling it to me. _'They won't find out. Don't worry.'_ But what did I know? "None of them have to know," I said.

"They will if they see me staying at your goddamn hotel."

"You won't stay here."

"They'll think I'm stalking you."

"You aren't. You won't be. You'll stay somewhere else. They won't see you." I knew I was making excuses and they just wouldn't stop excusing themselves-- excuses excusing excuses? It just happened. And I knew it was happening so I tried to stop it, I started stuttering. "R-really, okay? I'll pay. You can get on the n-next flight to Orlando. I'll take care of it. I'll get you a cab. I'll get you a room. Okay?"

"...Okay."

That was how it began. Axel following me, me _making_ Axel following me, me dragging Axel across the country. I used the money that I earned staying away from Axel to bring him to me. If I hadn't taken the job, I wouldn't have left the lake. I wouldn't have left Axel. I wouldn't have spent the thousands of dollars I did in toting him along behind me. But that all means nothing now, I guess. It happened-- and as it happened, well, that's just what I did.

x x x

It was the night after another follow-up party over the release of that godawful single. It was a chart-topper and Luxord was too busy patting himself on the back to notice how smashed the rest of us were getting. It was okay back then, I guess, because we didn't have such a huge following that we attracted paparazzi. They snapped a few shots, clipped a few quotes, and that was it-- gone before the party had been rolling long enough for us to all feel the need to drown out noise with noise and booze with booze. It was a weird kind of logic and I'm not even going to try explaining it here.

But right. The night after that-- after that party and after an afternoon at the studio-- Luxord had us all rounded up around a clothing cart. A music video, he'd told us, was in our future. It was time to get ourselves stoked, to get ourselves prepped. Yeah. That's not actually what he said, but it was something to that extent. And when it came my turn to have a wardrobe picked on out for me, Luxord addressed me directly for the first time in... well, a while.

"You had good exposure last night-- which is good," he said. And then, grinning, "Miné's little dress helped, huh? People like cute couples. And you--" he continued with a poke to my arm (annoying) "--are a cute couple."

I didn't say much. I didn't have much to say. I was kind of peeved that no one had stopped me from drinking last night and even more-so when Luxord didn't get busted for it. I was still only seventeen back then-- close to eighteen, sure, but still. Everyone turned a blind eye and, well, I was kind of... I don't know. Worried. They were all willing to ignore my age to get something from me, and back then, I didn't know what that something was that they wanted.

Demyx took my silence for some kind of hostility, I guess. So he grinned that stupid grin and slung that arm around me and just said, "Roxas, come on. It's free publicity. More than that? It's _good_ free publicity."

"These'll work." Luxord had pulled out a pair of pants-- I think they were dyed dark purple. Color aside, they were the most disgusting things I'd ever seen and I didn't feel up to lying about it.

"Is that snakeskin?" I asked. I hoped someone would get the message and save me from wearing those things. Sadly, and somewhat expectedly, no one did.

"Alligator, baby. Faux gator. See? Stretchy." To prove his point, Demyx gave the pants a few light tugs and the pseudo-skin sure enough stretched and shrunk before my very eyes. Still. They weren't any less ugly.

"What do alligators have to do with charity?"

"Nothing," Luxord said. And with that, he turned to go attend to Kairi. He always did have a way of making it delightfully clear when he was done talking to you.

"Listen, Roxas. You're still wet behind the ears in this kind of world." I don't know if Demyx was grabbing for my ear or what, but if he was, he missed. He just settled for messing up the hair behind my ears with his fingers. Weird. "You should listen to Luxord," he said, grinning that stupid, shit-eating grin that made me think of Axel-- that made me kind of bitter for making me think of Axel. I just... I really felt so lame, you know? They'd sprung the stupid charity idea on me just a few days before Axels' birthday.

Axel's birthday and I was ditching him for an ugly pair of gator pants and a phony publicity stunt.

Seeing Demyx's face somehow only helped me picture Axel's face when I'd next see him. When he'd be twenty-one and hating all over me. But what could I really have done? Luxord had us there-- he had us all there and he had us all listening, all waiting, all expecting. He turned away from Kairi, who was probably nervous anyway from all the attention regarding her clothing. Turned away from the girl he believed to be a man and actually addressed me once again.

"The media has control, Roxas," he was saying. And he was speaking to me, but I knew-- we all knew it was meant for all of us to hear. "The media has control and the media is going to be covering this damn event. It's about who they choose to go after and revere and who they choose to go after and destroy. If you go here, if you look good, if you act right, if you listen to what we tell you, the media won't have jack shit against you. Hell, they might even like you. But if you ignore them, if you snub them, they will eat you alive."

With that, I felt Demyx pressing those godawful pants back into my arms and I felt my face, my neck prickling and burning like no other. It wouldn't be the last time I'd hear Luxord talk like that. I guess it sounds a little creepy to anyone who doesn't know what it's like. _'The media is watching. Love the media, respect the media. The all-seeing eye is watching you and judging every damn thing you do.'_

Yeah.

Well.

It _is_ creepy. It's something you never really get used to. You go from rattling around a lakeside mansion with your old man who doesn't know a thing about you-- you go from that into the kind of world where everyone wants to know everything all the time and of course you put up a fight, you don't know what else to do. But you lose anyway. It's always you against them. And as everyone knows, there will always be more of them than there will be of you.

Another thing Luxord taught me? Don't bother-- you'll lose anyway. Just surrender, it's okay, most of the time you're the only one who gives a damn anyway.

x x x

I had on that stupid green sweatshirt of Axel's when I answered the door. Kairi looked at it-- looked at it pretty hard, which was an impressive feat in and of itself, since with was so... blindingly green and all. But she didn't say anything. She just walked in, just sat on my bed. Just smiled. "Roxas," she told me, "I'm... I'm really glad I can talk to you. That I can... can get a chance to ease up around you, you know?"

I got the feeling she was going to keep going for a while-- not only that, but she was going to keep going in the direction that would eventually lead to a watery breakdown on her part. So in this brilliant kind of insight I... don't usually possess, I grabbed the box of tissues from the bathroom and sat next to her. Sure enough, she started talking. And she talked and she talked and even now I don't know how long she was talking for; even now I can't wrap my mind around all the hours, all the minutes she spent soul-spilling on the foot of that Orlando hotel bed. I shouldn't say what she told me, I shouldn't repeat what she trusted me with, but... it's not like it matters now anyway.

She had these dark rings under her eyes. I'd never seen her without makeup before, but I'd also never really thought anything of it until I found out she was actually, well, a she. Kairi had this kind of round, feminine face, a nose that was a little pointed, but small and kind of dainty, I guess. Without makeup, her skin seemed kind of dull and imperfect and she just looked so painfully normal, it was impossible not to wonder why the heck she just gave that kind of normalcy up for... for what we had, I mean. What we got.

As a girl, maybe she wasn't all that attractive. I don't know. But as a boy, she was this sort of... this delicate little heartthrob with a clear, pure sound and a clear, pure smile. Everybody loved Kairi. I told her that once, I think-- that everybody loved her. She just kind of laughed a little.

"They like who I _choose_ to be," she told me. "They like who I am today. On another day, maybe they won't. Maybe they won't like me anymore tomorrow."

She told me she was blank.

"I have no personality," she'd say, "so it's easy for me to become this way. When I was little, it was like all the other kids were so... _different_ from one another. And it was so cool to watch them and admire them, but I wasn't like that. I _was_ different, but I was different because I didn't have anything that _made_ me different. If that makes sense. But... It's like filling in the lines on a form or a test, now. I'm not really a boy, but I'm not really Kairi either. That's because, really, there is no Kairi, you know?"

To be honest, I didn't know. But Kairi didn't really seem to give much of a damn. It was almost like-- now that I knew this one secret of hers, I was set and doomed to know the rest. Kairi would come to my room a lot after that. I get the impression that she got access to it from Zexion, who she also seemed to be pretty friendly with. He never really talked back to her-- we'd get in late from the studio and Zexion would open the doors for us and Kairi would smile and chat and want to stay up all night with him.

There was one night we were at that hotel and Kairi came on in my room at-- it must've been two or three in the morning, I guess. And she came in and said to 'wake up', and said we were 'going to have a snack' or something. She took me down to the kitchens, where Zexion was-- I don't really know if that guy ever really slept-- and we had ice cream by candlelight.

Kairi didn't eat hers. It just melted and dripped all over the counter.

"Oops. Sorry. I'll get it."

"It's alright," Zexion told her. "It's fine."

Later, Kairi would tell me that she couldn't eat ice cream. "It shows on girls," she'd say. "Eating junk food late at night. Our fat goes here--" and she'd point to that perfectly flat, perfectly malnourished stomach of hers. "You're lucky you're actually a boy, Roxas," she'd say. "You can eat."

x x x

Axel's taxi had him dropped off at a hotel across the city, a place Zexion said was third-rate. _'Wait, where does Zexion factor into this?'_-- right? Well, he'd caught me flipping through the phone book like a crazy kid and I told him I needed a cheap hotel. He got defensive...

"Why would you need that?"

And I got to further bullshitting my way into a hole I couldn't get out of...

"My uncle's coming to visit me. He's in the area. Thought he'd check up. He's a hippie and he doesn't like nice joints like this."

Well, obviously _that_ was some sort of butchered love-child of a lie. I mean, I _did_ have an uncle and I _was_ relatively sure he was a bit of a bum, but I hadn't seen him last since I was six and stupid and easily influenced by the opinions of my conservative parents. What you have to understand now, I think, is that I didn't come from the kind of family that... well, I didn't come from the family that 'was' pop culture. My mom wasn't cool-- she didn't get plastic surgery, she was slightly overweight, and she wasn't all that attractive. My dad was a college drop-out who somehow struck it big doing whatever it was he did and all he listened to was Frank Sinatra-- a talented guy, yeah-- and all he talked about on a daily basis about how Homeland Security would bring America to the next level of power on a worldwide scale. Superpower-dom, he called it. With all seriousness. Superpower-dom.

...Whatever _that_ meant, right?

Right.

Zexion, on the other hand, was apparently this Florida kid with a family who made their business in whoring off idiots like me to the carnivorous public who-- I didn't know at the time-- liked to rip people limb from limb and lick up their juicy innards. Yeah. But Zexion wasn't like that. At least, I was pretty sure he wasn't like that. I'm still pretty sure he's not like that, but I haven't really seen him in a good two years or so, so I really can't say. Maybe he's prepping the next Britney Spears behind all our backs. Maybe I'll just never know.

Either way, Zexion was the one who gave me the names of a couple hotels he thought might be more to my uncle's "lesser likings." It kind of cracked me up, but it kind of didn't, seeing as I knew I was flat out lying to Zexion and I also knew Zexion really hadn't done anything to deserve it. He was Kairi's friend, afterall-- though I still don't know how that one worked-- and if Kairi could trust him well enough to like him, it should've stood to reason that I could do the same.

But I couldn't.

And I thought it wouldn't come to bite me in the ass until Zexion came up to me later with glasses on nose-- cute-- and a clipboard full of big elitist names in hand-- not so cute.

"Is your uncle coming?" he asked me.

And this was, oh, I guess two days after the lie and maybe it was the staying-up-late-and-recording-stupid-songs part of it or maybe it was the karma part of it, but either way, I didn't have a flying clue what he was talking about. "...My _uncle_?"

"The hippie one."

"...My hippie unc--" And then it hit me. "My **_hippie_** **_uncle_**! ...Uh."

Kairi popped in out of nowhere-- kinda like she had a tendency of doing back then-- and wrinkled her nose in this cute little way and went, "Uncle--?" Like she was waiting for a name, you know? A name I didn't have. I couldn't even remember my _real_ uncle's name and I was too busy freaking out over whether or not Zexion might just be creepy enough to do a background check on all this. So I can't own up to what came out of my mouth next. It's just that crappy.

"Uncle... Uncle... Cllloooud," I told them.

"Uncle _Cloud_," Zexion repeated. He didn't buy it. I think something sort of exploded behind my eyes and in my head and the freak-out going on inside only got worse. God, but I'm a terrible liar.

"Well, Roxas did say he was a hippie," Kairi said.

"Shut up."

Zexion twirled his pen around his fingers and doted on his little clipboard for a while. I hadn't gathered he was younger than me up until that point, but then it made perfect sense as to why he took himself and his job so seriously-- because no one else would. Panic increasing a good tenfold or so, I figured Zexion would try to prove himself by finding me out, selling me out, and chasing me out of whatever the heck kind of name I had built for myself. It wasn't much of one at that point in time, but I just wanted anything-- anything at all so people could know me and be interested enough in me to maybe, maybe see a movie by me one day, remember?

I mean, don't forget who I was. Who I was back then. I'm not saying it didn't change, I'm just... saying, is all.

"So. Is he coming?" Zexion asked. "I need to know for the table setting."

"No, he's not coming," I told him.

"Why? He's in town now, isn't he?" I wanted to kick Kairi, but the thing about knowing she was really a girl-- it slowed you down a little when you really just wanted to knock some sense into her.

And as if it couldn't possibly have gotten any worse-- as if the lie couldn't possibly have dragged me into more shit-- Luxord walked into the hallway holding a grapefruit in one hand and a knife in the other.

...Scary.

And he goes, "Roxas, you've got family in Orlando?"

And Zexion says, "No, he booked his uncle a room across town because he was passing through."

And _Kairi_ chimes in, "His Uncle Cloud!"

"Uncle Cloud?"

"He's a hippie!"

"Hmm. Is he scruffy?"

"Scruffy?"

Luxord shifted the grapefruit to his left hand, settling it next to the knife while he rubbed at his beard and started looking real thoughtful all of a sudden. "You know. With a beard. Dreadlocks. Patched pants. Scruffy."

Kairi blinked. "You have a beard. Are _you_ a hippie?"

"I used to be."

"..."

"..."

I don't think I need to mention how odd it is that Luxord confessed his... hippie tendencies to us all. I mean, he'd been in some bizarre, prestigious university in the UK, so none of us really knew how exactly it all worked out. How an American-born, British hippie managed to worm his way full circle into all our lives, but what the heck, right?

He told us he'd been visiting his grandparents in their retirement home over there because it was only a few blocks away from his flat and they weren't doing so hot. "Just getting old," he told us. Like it was okay, even. Like it was some twisted part of life, that decline he went to help his old grandparents along through.

Anyway, while he was visiting them, this random old wrinkly lady in a wheelchair stopped him on his way in. She had giant glasses and little arms-- a tiny, shriveled prune of a thing who smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish and probably existed when both of those stupid phrases were coined, to begin with. As it was, she was hard of hearing and basically screamed everything she said, just so she could hear herself talk.

"Come closer, sonny!" this lady said. "You remind me of a loved one!"

"I do?"

"You do!" And she clapped one shriveled old hand over her heart and warbled like the oldest hen that never was-- "Oh, my Harold! I miss you, I miss you so!"

"Well. Um." Luxord told us all he was a little freaked out, but wasn't heartless enough to just leave the woman to cry all over herself in some bleak old retirement home. Really, it was a little endearing to learn that Luxord hadn't always been a money-hungry son of a bitch, but at the same time, maybe he wanted to get close enough to claim her inheritance. Either way, he plopped himself down next to her, licked his lips and said, "So... uh, tell me more about him. Was Harold your husband?"

"No!"

"...A lover? A son?"

"He was my Schnauzer!"

"...Your... Schnauzer. ...Isn't that a dog?"

"I was walking him-- October the thirteenth, I remember the day exactly! Got hit by a milk truck and it cleaved his head right off!" That skinny stick-arm of hers whirled over her head and she drew this line across the back of her neck, across the back of her bony, veiny neck. "Right here!" she told him, "It killed him right here! It beheaded him! The driver had been reading _Life_ magazine-- can you imagine! _Life_ magazine killed my Harold!"

...I still don't know if Luxord was trying to make a point with that story or what. I'm inclined to think he was-- that maybe he somehow, on some level, saw everything that was about to unfold and was throwing _Life_ magazine and freakish coincidence out to us all as a fair warning he himself didn't even expect. But he just said that the freaky thing was--

"The really _odd_ thing is that October thirteenth is my birthday and I always _have_ had this strange scar on the back of my neck, you see."

There was silence. I think Kairi was floored and I think Zexion was... well, Zexion was probably still trying to accept the fact that his 'adopted' cousin had been a raging British hippie seeking Enlightenment through hair-growth. Me? I was just trying to regulate my heartbeat with mental power alone and I was having one hell of a time. I wanted all this to be over with as soon as could be.

"...Look," I said after a minute. "My uncle's not coming, okay?"

"Well, if he's a dyed-in-the-wool hippie, it's probably for the best," Luxord muttered.

"Yeah. It really is."

And that, as they say, was that. Or at least. I thought it was.

So really, once I had them all convinced that Axel was some sort of street cat relative with a pair of rose colored shades and peace-pattered pantaloons, the rest pretty much just... fell into place. Before recording, after recording-- "I'm going to see Cloud, guys. Later." And no one ever seemed to question it. Maybe they all thought the mysterious Uncle Cloud was some sort of mental case who needed constant love and attention in order to be able to function properly. Who knows?

The hotel Axel was staying at itself was nothing special, as expected. Axel seemed happy enough when I met up with him. He opened the door grinning and I think he either grew some or I shrunk some, but either way, things weren't exactly how I had remembered them being some months beforehand. Not that it was a bad thing. He was all smiles, all friendly-- you'd never have thought there was anything... like that... going on between us. If you'd walked in on us right then, I mean. Old friends, you'd probably have said. And neither of those was true at the time, I think. We hadn't known each other long and we weren't friends. That's just the way it was.

And then something... really odd happened. Axel's arms swung up-- these two parallel things-- and then bent and looped around to hug me. He smelled like cologne and dry air and the lint from his shirt tickled he side of my face and my eyes felt funny and burning, but I couldn't close them. I couldn't close them right then, you know? And he grabbed my shoulders then and held me away at arm's length and he said something like, "Lookit you, huh? You're like a goddamn miserable prince."

Axel had this way of looking at you, of talking at you. I realized it then, standing in that third-rate hotel Zexion had picked out, standing across from Axel and it was like-- it was like I saw it or I figured it out somehow-- that Axel had this way of making you feel like you really, truly meant something to him.

I said, "Well, for someone who got struck by lightning not three months ago, I guess you look okay, too."

Axel laughed because I sounded lame. I pretty much laughed because I raked my head like crazy for another option, but couldn't find one. So laughing was all I got and laughing was all I did. I think his fingers were thinner, maybe his wrists were bonier. And I think I would've really worried if Axel hadn't told me about his job over the phone. If he hadn't said he'd had that-- well, I don't know what I would've thought. But I knew Axel wasn't lying to me because I knew Axel wasn't like me. Axel wouldn't lie to cover his ass. Around me, Axel wouldn't cover his ass at all.

...Haha, right?

Yeah. Right.

It was, I guess, in some weird, twisted kind of way, almost like we were back in Axel's apartment, lying there on the couch and doing absolutely nothing except just being... content. It was nice. And now, if I had another chance at it and if I actually, really could-- well, I would have put it all on pause, me and Axel in a cheap Orlando hotel bed, just lying around and staring at the ceiling and sometimes laughing at nothing but the absurdity of the entire stupid situation.

We raided the hotel vending machine and stayed up all night talking, like stupid kids or something. Axel told me more about his shop, about the kinky things he sold there and the kinky kinds of people who walked in there. And I... well. I don't know. Axel seemed curious and everything about what I'd been up to. Curious enough, I guess. But really? I think that back then, maybe he still resented me for leaving. I'd tell him about-- about Luxord and his days as a UK hippie or about Hayner and all the stupid shit he'd say. But I guess they were never the right things to say at all, really. I'd say something about Luxord, Hayner-- he'd just nod and say "How's Demyx, then?" or "Yeah, okay, so you and Kairi get along? God, that guy's such a queer."

The more time I spent with Axel, the more time I didn't feel like spending with the whole damn band. I mean, sure, I'd hang out with Kairi after a recording-- sometimes we'd go visit Zexion (who, still, was always awake, it seemed) or Demyx. I wasn't all that thrilled about visiting Demyx, but Kairi wasn't all that thrilled about visiting Hayner, and Tidus was just nowhere to be seen anyway, since Yuna was in town when we were. It was all very complicated and very stupid-- that much is obvious now, sure-- but that's the way it was.

And that's the way it was when I decided I didn't feel like ditching Axel for his birthday. When I decided that the least I could do was just spend some time with him-- any time at all.

And that's the way it was when Axel became an idiot and showed up at my hotel. Naturally, Luxord was standing in the lobby. And naturally, I caught sight of Axel well before disaster struck. Disaster sometimes likes to hang around on the sidelines to grab your attention while a two-hundred-pound-player pummels your guts into the turf. That's what I figured out. And instantly, what Luxord was saying made little to no difference to me. It concerned the music video, it concerned the single, but that was all I caught because I was too damn busy staring at Axel as he walked up to the doors. Too busy staring and too busy trying not to should a little something like, "TURN BACK AROUND, YOU FUCKING MORON."

I wouldn't really have said that, but I did really want to. Believe me. It would all be over if Axel made one wrong move. And I knew Axel somewhat back then. And he was prone to making wrong moves.

But you want to know what happened?

Kairi happened.

She just clapped a hand to her face and it was like she suddenly remembered something dreadful, something really, truly life-altering.

"Luxord, I think Tidus is going to shave his eyebrows!" she said.

"_What_?"

"Well-- well go stop him or something!" ... Yeah. Apparently, it really was that easy. Believe me, if I had known it was that easy, I might have gotten off better in the long run. Regardless, once Luxord had disappeared to rescue Tidus and his lovely eyebrows, Kairi turned to me with arms crossed and eyebrows raised and questions, questions questions. "You are lucky I have a hair appointment at three," she told me. "Otherwise? Yeah. I'd be spying on you to figure out what you're up to. Just don't do anything stupid, man."

x x x

"Axel, what're you _doing_ here?"

"Uh. It's my goddamn birthday and you said we'd go out."

"I did?"

"You did."

"We will..."

"Okay, let's roll. ...What's the holdup?"

"...There... there's a... a surprise."

"A surprise?"

"A surprise. Uh. Go in the car and... and wait for me. Yeah. H-here, tip the cabby."

"O-kaaay..."

x x x

"Kairi!"

"Yeah? Who was that guy? Is that your uncle? But he's so young! And... and hot! And he totally doesn't look like a hippie-- I mean, what the heck kinda hippies do you _know_, Roxas?"

"He's **not** a hippie, for God's sake. Listen. Don't you remember Axel?"

"Axellll... Axel, Axel, Axel... OH! Axel! No kidding?"

"How did you _forget_ him?"

"People, Roxas. We see tons of different people all the time. I don't have the space for all of them."

"Okay. Whatever. Look. You have your... big, dark secret, right?"

"...Riiight?"

"And I have mine. It's Axel. And it's Axel's birthday and I need to get him into that chairty."

"Roxas, look, getting him a hotel is one thing, but--:

"It's not going to be a habit, okay? But I promised him. Look, it's not like we have a _relationship_. But I owe him."

"How do you owe him?"

"Just... trust me. I do."

"...His birthday, huh?"

"And you promised him you'd spend time with him?"

"Something like that..."

"So break your promise."

"I made a promise to you, too, Kairi."

"...Okay. Here's what we'll do."

x x x

"Axel, we're going to a costume party."

"...That's lame. Are you serious?"

"It's a costume fundraiser thing."

"For my birthday?"

"I promise it'll be a good time."

"Why do I not believe you? Roxas, Roxas, Roxas, you crazy little rich kid. Shooting down my dreams of getting plastered at a fresh and thirsty twenty-one. Only you could."

"So you'll go?"

"Hey, if you're gonna stand me up otherwise-- on my _birthday_--"

"Axel..."

"Kidding, kidding. Man, lighten up a little, huh?"

"Whatever."

"We're going to dinner first. You say it's a costume thing? I'll be a pirate. I've always wanted to be a goddamn pirate."

"Uh. Not that kind of costume, exactly..."

x x x

"Hell. No."

"Axel--"

"A _tux_? What the hell am I supposed to be costuming _as_ for crying out loud? Lux Luthor? Do I gotta shave my head next?" And yet while Axel was whining and bitching and moaning, he was also pathetically trying to fix the way his tie sat on him. A part of me figured he'd never been in Armani before. A part of me figured the world would actually probably have been better off if Axel had been kept far, far away from Armani... "Actually, Lux Luthor," he was saying, "--doesn't that kinda sound like _Luxord_ to you?"

While Axel talked on like an idiot and tried to fix his tie like an idiot, I just sort of stood back and watched. I think the tux was a dark kinda gray, you know. It wasn't black, I know that much. Maybe there were tiny pinstripes-- maybe they were hard to see from a distance, they were so small. But regardless of all of it, one fact remained really, painfully true.

"You look... really good. _Really_," I said.

Axel quit his bitching just long enough to give me some kind of look. Some kind of weird look that I think almost expressed some kind of equally weird affection, but now, I can't really say. All I remember is that he went: "Hot?"

And I went: "Definitely."

"Am I _sexy_?"

"Mmhmm."

"Am I turning you ooo-oon?"

And that's when the store owner walked into the back rooms, back where the dressing rooms and the mirrors were. Yep. That exact moment.

"Um." Suddenly there was five feet of space between me and Axel and I don't think either of us knew quite exactly how it'd gotten there. All I was aware of was me stuttering out like an idiot a little something like, "Y-yeah. We'll take this one."

And as if that wasn't bad enough, it only went downhill when I went to actually pay for the damn tux and Axel stayed to actually take off the damn tux.

The cashier felt like talking and talking, for me, meant all kinds of trouble abound. "Hey," the guy said, "have I seen you around here before? You--"

"I don't think so. Sorry. We're... tourists." The thing about lying is that once you start, it's incredibly hard to stop. For me, that was unimaginably bad, seeing as I can't lie. Like I told you. But I couldn't help it. Even though I started sweating on the spot and my feet were willing me to turn and run like no other...

"Oh really? Where from?"

"Uh. Iowa." See what I mean? It's like they just kept coming at their own will or something. And what was really stupid was that everyone knew that no one lived in Iowa. I mean. Really. Who lives in Iowa? Axel couldn't even remember Iowa was a state half of the time, and the other half of the time he didn't know where the heck it was. He walked in right then, confused as anything, and went--

"'Iowa?' What the hell's 'Io'--"

"They _sure_ grow 'em well in Iowa. You know, I _know_ a guy in Iowa. Maybe you know him. He runs this really sexy joint, you know, and--" So much for no one living in Iowa. I tried to shut the guy up as quickly as possible before he really got me going with the lies and I paid him, let him keep all twenty dollars of change I threw his way, and bolted out that door with Axel trailing along behind like choked puppy who thought he was on the wrong end of the leash.

"...Well. That was certainly odd."

"You have no idea."

"Hey, so where are we eating?"

x x x

"Luxord, I'm bringing my uncle."

"The hippie?"

"Mmhmm."

"You sure he won't embarrass you?"

...I couldn't be sure. But seeing as I couldn't be sure about a whole lot back then anyway, well, I was sort of willing to take my chances. Stupidly willing to take my chances, yeah, but a risk is a risk. And Axel was a risk.

A bigger risk than I even knew at the time.

x x x

I read this poem once, but I can't remember the name of it. In fact, I can't even remember who wrote it. All I know is that it was about the bombardiers. The bombardiers hanging from the bottoms of planes, all wrapped in glass and all-seeing, all-knowing everything around them. I don't know why it comes to mind now. I thought about it then, too, I guess. This one guy who could see and be seen by everyone, dropping bombs across the world and killing people.

I used to think-- and still do-- that being that guy would be hell.

(x) (x) (x)

Still wrestling with college applications, folks... For those of you who _still_ don't know, that's why updates are so slow in coming. And I've now got a job to factor into all this, but I hope this chapter sort of makes up for it? I've set the stage for a bunch of Axel-n'-Roxas fun in the coming chapters, so hopefully that'll keep you all hanging on until I can crank the next chapter out.

Again, sorry about the long gaps between updates (and my own slacking off on reviewing everyone else's work.) I'm sorry! It'll get better!


	7. Bride Of The Theme Song

**Marigold**

'Bride of the Theme Song'

You know, behind all the charity crapola that was going on there-- behind all the schmoozing and oozing and "Thank-you-very-much-for-choosing yadda-yadda clothing-so yadda-yadda moneybags-can-build yadda-yadda name-for-his-goddamn-yadda-self--" behind all that is one hell of a funny story, let me tell _you_.

Actually, it probably wasn't even all that funny now that I sit down and think about it.

_Actually_, actually, I was probably the only bastard who found it funny to begin with, and that's mostly because deep down inside my little black heart, I'm one of the sickest sons of bitches you'll most likely never meet. So. Long story short? It was probably only funny in my head.

Like Roxas probably already told you, he managed to go on and bullshit my entry into the charity as his fuckin' _uncle_ or something. I dunno about that kid sometimes. Didn't then, don't now. Doubt I ever will. So crazy. So quiet. It's the quietly crazy ones that make up the bulk of today's serial killers, though, but you probably already knew that. But what Roxas didn't know that he wasn't the only one sporting a little bit of a "secret agenda," if you damn well will.

Getting one thing straight, I never-- and I mean absofuckinglutely _never_-- would've gone to a frickin' charity under just any old damn circumstance, you see. I would've been much more likely to just have been a bitch about the whole ordeal and eaten Roxas' poor, screaming face off rather than tag along with him to that thing. But as it was, I had just thought to myself a little something like-- "_Hey, what more could I possibly ask for than this one chance in a lifetime to rub elbows with some hot-head big-shots and destroy Roxas' career all at **once**?_"

And it wasn't as though Roxas hadn't already set himself up for one helluva fall, what with him blabbing on and on about me being his goddamn uncle, of all things. So really, I was almost kind of, sort of doing no more than nudging Roxas along his own path to a self-destructing career time bomb thing. I pushed the button, but Roxas supplied the gunpowder and the fuse. That kind of thing. You get it? What happened went a little something like this.

The old charity stomping grounds were slapped down at the great, grand Hyatt in Orlando, the biggest and baddest mother this side of any old hemisphere. Roxas thought he was some sly dog, probably, asking me real nice and simple-like to arrive a little bit after the whole function really kicked off. Now, you know and I know that no party really, truly starts until I arrive.

But sweet little Roxas had me rinsing my hair a temporary black and sporting that godawful tux and going all out, all _incognito_. He swore the hair rinse would do its duty and then wash right out. "Besides," he'd said. "you're not a raver anymore. I mean... it's not like a more... uh... _natural_ hair color would kill you or anything, right?" But he'd gone and said it in that kind of sad way of his, sad so you knew he didn't really mean it. No one really gave a shit about me or my hair when I finally did show up there. They'd hand me a drink and a few suspicious little bastards and bitches would dare to ask who I was.

"Roxas' beloved old Uncle Cloud," I'd tell them.

And then, more often than not, I'd remember I was supposed to be a hippie and tie up that with some lamely tacked on, "Uh... man," or "dude" or "groovy" or "peace."

And _then_, more often than not, they'd give me a _real_ oddball look, the most of them, but they'd pretty much leave me alone after that. I figured it was probably mostly because they all knew who Roxas was, you know. They all knew who Roxas was and what was the point in talking to some _nobody_ _relative_ when the real deal was somewhere in that very same building at that very same moment, right? Riiight.

Well, I'd kept one eye on Roxas the whole evening and the other on whatever drink was in my hand. (It's a wonder I'm not all fucked-up and cockeyed now, I'd say.) He was almost constantly surrounded by that damned princess posse of his, the girly boys and their girly girls on their arms. All but Kairi and Dem had a girl with them-- Kairi, as I later found out, because his girl was at some athletic meet or something, and Demyx, most likely, because he was saving himself for one of those "Win a date with Dem--!"

"Axel-- finally."

Er, one of those win-a-date-things. You catch my drift. Right. So. Where was I?

Oh yeah. Leaning against a wall, trying to see how many I could put back before getting totally wasted and yacking my guts all over the nearest chick sporting Steve Madden stilletoes. Roxas had shown up though, putting something of a damper on my plan. At least he couldn't nag me for drinking underage. But by that point, I wouldn't have cared anyway. I was already slightly drunk and saying some crap like: "Wasn't it _you_ who was just telling me I was supposed to be your goddamn _un_cle?"

Roxas winced, and for about half a second, I actually think I felt a little pang of guilt. Then I realized it was probably heartburn from the shitty _hors d'oeuvres _they were serving.

(That word-- "hors d'oeuvres"? God, have you ever _seen_ such an annoying word? I never know how to pronounce that little bastard when I see it all written up. Even just thinking about the stupid thing gets me pissed off. Literally it means 'horse eggs.' Did you know that? _Did_ you? Horse. _Eggs_. ...Or at least, I think that's what it means. Larxene could have been completely shitting me when she said it. Or she could've been drunk off her ass. Either is likely. Still doesn't change the fact that I hate that word. So now I'm going to completely rephrase that turn of events.)

Roxas winced, and for about half a second, I actually think I felt a little pang of guilt. Then I realized it was probably heartburn from the shitty 'instead-of-feeding-you-_actual_-food-we'll-feed-you-mini-pies-that-taste-like-dead-sea-cucumbers-dipped-in-car-oil-aharharhar'... things that they fed us. Yes. Well. Still. I carried on. Somehow. It surprises me even now, when the mood strikes me and I fancy looking back on this one completely insignificant life in my night. ..._Night_ in my _life, _that is. Fuck.

Anyway, I slung one old arm around little Roxas' shoulders and kinda made to ruffle his hair. I figured that was an uncle-ish kind of thing to do, you know? That, and I was still feeling a little warm and friendly from all the booze those crazies kept sliding me that night.

"Roxas, Roxas, Roxas," I told him. "Loosen up a bit, man! It's my birthday and you're here with me at the most boring get-together on the face of this goddamn eath! These are great times!"

"Ax--" he growled, sort of, and then wiggling away from me like a worm on stilts-- "_Cloud_. Uncle. Uncle Cloud, look."

"Have you made an announcement that it's my birthday yet?" I asked.

"No," he said. And then started off with, "Look, I promise I'll make it up to y--"

"Nonono, none of that, now, mm?" Me and my arm conspired to trap Roxas once again and keep him close at... side. Or something. I'd seen that blonde little twit of a girlfriend of his flitting around and I remember thinking through that haze of alcohol and heartburn that I'd be damned if I was gonna let them steal my Roxas back so easily. There I'd flown, all the way down to Orlando on Roxas' money-- there was no way I was going to let my one solitary little evening with him go to shits just like that.

"I want you," I said, "to go tell some big somebody to make an announcement that it's your Uncle Cloud's birthday. Whaddya say? We can at least have some fun. Besides, everyone here's so rich, maybe I'll get a free car out of the deal!"

"_Uncle_, I don't think that's really how it works."

"You wouldn't know, would you? You haven't had a celebrity birthday yet. But just you wait. You'll be turning _legal_. They'll have you on Rolling Stone and everything." I was _definitely_ drunk at that point and I was laughing like an idiot-- "Little do they knoo-oow, hahaha!"

"Listen, I'm sorry this is such a drag..."

"Not a drag at all!" I was dimly aware of being led to a table, but I didn't mind so much as long as it was Roxas doing the leading. He was leading me all over the place, I realized about then. Florida, charities, tables. It's a wonder I put up with any of it. I'm not really such a submissive guy, you know. Not really so easily led around.

_Really_.

"You know what would make this party really cool?" I asked him. I don't really think he was listening, but he was sitting me down and sitting down with me, so it was all good, all the same. All me slurring my words and Roxas shaking his head and making these silly little noises that were either a fabrication of my tipsy imagination or his pathetic attempt at consoling me back into a state of sobriety.

"No, what would make it cool, Axel?" he asked.

"If they set the drinks on _fire_," I told him.

"...Um."

"Yeah! _You_ know. Like they do on the TV."

"I can't really say I've ever watched people drink flaming alcohol, Ax--Uncle."

"Well they put it out before they drink it, yanno."

"Wouldn't it burn?"

"Naaah, not if you do it right. Do it quick, do it right, you don't feel a thing." And then, because I'm a real smart son of a gun, I started getting all philosophical and drooping on the table and getting out-- "A _lot_ of things are like that, I figure. Don't you figure? Kill something quick and it'll hardly do more than sting for a second. But if you draw it out-- man oh _man_, that's when it really gets you hard."

Behold, ladies and gents. The dark art of foreshadowing. With an irony upchuck on the side.

"You... need to lay off the drinks," I heard Roxas say. He laughed a little-- a nice sound-- and tacked on an "Uncle Cloud," for good measure, and yeah, yeah, yeah, I was grinning like the biggest dumbass when I felt his hand on my back, coaxing the dumbass words out of my dumbass mouth.

Out they came.

"I suppose your fangirls wouldn't smile upon incest."

"No. Actually, they probably wouldn't." And what was _really_ funny was that Roxas was pinker in the face than me and **_I_** was the one who was completely piss-ass drunk. No sense in that, but then again, there was no sense in me being there in the first place. I was slow in realizing it, but it was starting to dawn on me. Yeah, about the time I started feeling boredom crawl up my nose and dig around in there, I reeeally started realizing that there was no sense in my being much of anywhere around there.

And I made sense of this all while tearing at the tablecloth with my fingernails.

"Hmm. I see." Rip, rip, shred, shred. That was me. "Well, that just leaves flaming balls of beer to amuse me!" I started giggling to myself (drunken dumbass, remember?) and Roxas just stared blankly and sighed. Stared some more. And sighed.

"Listen," he started. "I'll try and sneak out of here early if I can, okay? Maybe... maybe if I make enough appearances to satisfy Luxord or something, I can say you got sick and I had to take you back to your hotel." I snagged the nearest mildly attractive waiter in the place and yoinked myself a glass of brandy from his tray (Well doesn't that sound dirty?) and knocked it back in one gulp. Meanwhile, Roxas watched on, muttering a little something like: "And if you keep drinking like that, it might not even have to be a lie..."

Down went the empty glass and up went my happy face! Roxas and I were busting out of there! Goddamn, what a hot hellhole of an adventure that one sounded like! So I shared my excitement.

"**_Sounds like a plan! _** You go shakey-shake your way off and be right back and I'll be _right here_."

"Promise?" A stupid question on Roxas' part. I was too content drinking like a fish to go much of anywhere.

"Don't make me an angry drunk, Roxas. Off you go!"

"I'll be back soon. Don't go anywhere."

"Not like there's much anywhere to go..." I muttered. Once Roxas was out of sight, lost in that big old crowd, I began rapidly losing interest in the party once again. I couldn't even remember what it was supposed to be for. Oh. That was right. Pardon. Charity, not party. Like I should have been having. You know. Me being the goddamn birthday boy of the... day. Or. Whatever. Anyway.

Me sitting there like that, I could see my hair all over my shoulders like it was and for about half a second or so I flipped the hell out because it was like-- _'Holy shit, I'm wearing someone else's hair!' _ And once that half-second was up, I realized that no, that was still just my own hair. And then I was bored again. So I thought to grab another drink but I couldn't find another waiter and I couldn't quite properly coordinate myself enough to flag one down.

So. What did I do?

Well it just so happens I have quite an amazing set of problem-solving skills. Such skills you've never seen. What I did was, I grabbed the nearest sucker who looked like a waiter and tapped her on the ass. Just like in the movies. Only without the slapping and the missing teeth and the slack-jawed-yokel expression.

A-_hyuk_.

"Hell-ooo. S'cuse me! You!"

The girl was a pretty little thing, short blonde hair all done up in these cutesy little braids. "Me?" she went. For a moment, I thought I might have found a mismatched companion to chill with in this gold-colored world thing the charity had going on. But then I got to thinking that spending my evening with a cutesy little blonde girl was the last thing I wanted to do. Which, really, was the absolute truth.

"Yeah you!" I said. And then I pointed to this little metal-ma-bob she had hanging at her hip-- just because I was a curious little mite and that thing was waving around just at eye level. Normal hormonal men of my age might be staring at her crotch. Me? I was staring at the shiny metal thing _just_ to the side of it.

"What's that mic-a-doo thing for?" I asked her.

"My microphone?"

"Yeah!"

"It's... it's f-for announcements, sir."

"Do you know Roxas?"

"Roxas... like... _Promise_-Roxas?"

"The very same."

"Y-yeah, I know him!"

Bing-o. I knew I had her hook, line, and goddamn motherfucking _sinker_. For a minute, it seemed too easy. Almost boring. And then I got over it.

"You like him?" I asked.

"...Why?"

"Just so happens-- **I'm** his favorite uncle. His **only** uncle, really."

"Oh?" She was getting excited, all pink in the face and shiny eyed and it was either making me want to puke or all that alcohol was trying to come up for another visit. Either way. I decided to cut to the chase.

"Today's my birthday."

"Is it?"

"That it is! The big twenty-one, wouldn't you figure."

Cutesy blinked a little. Cocked her head and went all squinty-eyed and suddenly she seemed a little ugly. I was glad I hadn't been staring at her crotch earlier. And she went, "Aren't you a little _young_ to be his uncle, then?"

Me being the well-educated and sharp-witted gent I am-- I already had a response cooked up for that one. "_Darling_," I said. In that really nasally way all the rich boys talk. "You _know_ how celebrity families work, don't you?"

"...No, no I don't. I'm sorry." She actually looked pretty distressed about it, distressed like-- _'Oh GOD, I didn't know I had to know about their **family** structures for this job!' _kind of distressed.

To put her at ease, I decided to let that issue be. She could figure it out for herself, for all I cared. "Er. Well. Man, isn't that groovy?"

And I still don't know if it was my own hippie-ish charm that caught her fancy or the possibility of a bit of personal attention from Roxas after it was all said and done with. Either way, before I knew what was what, she was hauling my drunken ass up to this stage at the head of this giant room, barely giving me time to grab my-- my-- well, I hadn't really brought anything with me to the damn charity, but I thought I had, so what I ended up grabbing in my confusion was the candle of the table's centerpiece. How weird. It probably looked like we were out to rev the place up into Kumbayas and steady sways.

And then we were on stage and she was addressing the crowd. And I was just standing there.

Yeah. You guessed it. Like a dumbass. A dumbass with a _candle_.

"Excuse me everyone! Yes! Good evening and thank you all for coming down here to show your support for the nation's _empovershed people_!"

From across the crowded room, in the far, far gone distance, I could just barely make out Roxas' unique little train-wreck of blonde hair and styling gels embedded in the fray. No doubt he was panicking. No doubt he was either stunned dead still or violently pushing his way towards the stage. But either way, all my mind could really wrap itself around by that was was that one word.

"...Em-pover-shed...?"

But still, she carried on. This time with a sweeping hand gesture that brought me into the picture, center stage with my stupid-ass candle and black-rinsed hair, staring at a crowd that could only stare back with a four thousand pairs of eyes that asked: _"Who the HELL are you?"_ And Cutesy up at the mic just went-- "We have a certain special guest tonight, who most of you probably don't know. But I'm sure you'll all be familiar with him when I introduce him as Roxas' very own _uncle_! Meet **Cloud**, everyone! And today's his birthday!"

There were a few awkward claps, but eventually the whole crowd got into it somehow, clapping along like it was a planned thing. A couple people smiled and flashed their bleached teeth at one another to make a good impression. _'Oh, **Cloud**! Of course! **I** knew it was his birthday. Did **you**? Ohohoho!' _ You know. That sort of thing.

"Cloud, come on up here for a shot!"

"Now this is more like it..."

And, in a spur of the moment thing, I lit the drink she handed me with that stupid candle I'd grabbed. I lit that sucker and **boy**, did it go up in flames-- the nicest flames you and everyone you know could ever hope to see on top of your glass-- and the audience did that crazy '_oooh_, _ahhh!_' thing and _for a moment_ I almost thought it would be cool-- it would be _damn_ _cool_ to be Roxas and up on stage like that all the time. Even if it was just to lip-synch some bullshit song.

That was when I started screwing up. When I got Roxas on the brain. And I started thinking about that conversation we'd been having at the table just then-- about flaming drinks and pain and shit. I couldn't remember where I'd seen it. The kids who set their drinks on fire. More than that, I couldn't remember how they put the fire out. They didn't just let it burn, I mean. But they'd done something really, really cool. And I was trying to remember what in the hell it had been. And that crazy fangirl waitress at my side was all smiles and all pride when she got on the mic again: "Come on, everyone! _'Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Clooo-oooud! Happy birthday to--'_"

And that's when I poured the flaming chalice of powerful vodka...

On my arm.

The microphone shrieked in static and the room went completely, totally silent.

And then I heard Cutesy whisper-- "Oh. God," and the place _exploded_.

"Holy **SHIT**!"

"FIRE!"

"Oh my lands!"

"_Jesus_!"

"Somebody, over here, over _here_!"

"Ow. Owowow." That was me, for the record.

"_Axel_! You're on _fire_!" And that was Roxas! Who had... suddenly just come outta nowhere-- and I mean NOWHERE-- and was grabbing at my not-quite-so-burning-other-arm and trying to act like he was helpful.

"Owowow..." Me again. But even though I was still technically drunk, I think the Burning Arm of Pain had done a bit to sober me up, because I definitely recognized old man Luxord as being the guy to come at me with the fire extinguisher, Janey at his side.

"Axel? Who's Axel?" Janey asked.

"I said 'unc'-- Who **cares**? Does anyone have some water? Any--oof!" And that was when we were hit by the fire extinguisher and its... fire-extinguishing amazingness.

"Whoa, sorry there, Roxas." Indeed, Luxord should've been sorry. Roxas was hacking up a lung, but still trying to look a little composed as he grappled with me for my arm, trying to see if it was okay, asking me if I could feel anything-- anything at all. I probably would've started laughing if I hadn't been a little worried that opening my mouth would result in me blowing chunks of those goddamn mini quiches and fish eggs and alcohol all over Roxas. Thankfully, that feeling passed, as did Roxas' coughing fit.

He righted himself up, dusted himself off like a real pro and stuck one hand in his hair to try and stick it back to its normal swept-over state. Poor Cutesy in the corner had dropped into a dead faint and was missing her chance to meet the boy toy of her dreams. Not surprisingly, I felt absolutely no pity for her. She could choke on her official Roxas fanclub membership card, for all I cared. Bitch. It was all her fault.

"Luxord, I'll meet you back at the hotel." That was all Roxas said. No questions asked, no challenges made. Roxas can be a real demanding bitch when he so chooses, and that was a particular moment in time when Roxas deeefinitely... uh. Chose. He grabbed me by still-steaming-but-perfectly-alright arm and personally escorted me out of the trashed building, into the wreck of a parking garage-- a jungle of limos and Jaguars and Lexus-whatever-the-hells everywhere you looked. And he whipped out his cell, dialed for a cab, and then just kept marching me right out of the building.

He didn't even say anything until we were four blocks away from the hotel and locked in the back of a taxi, zipping down the city streets on our way back to my hotel. And all that time I thought, _'Damn, but he's pissed. Damn, but he's angry. I've ruined his night and he's gonna give me the world's biggest goddamn earful.'_ But all I ended up getting was this real sad-eyed expression that flickered every time we drove under a streetlight and burst back into alternate patches of light and dark. But he was just so damn unhappy. So fucking unhappy.

"Axel..."

And that was all he said really. That was all the earful I got. Just my name, like maybe it would say everything, even though it really meant much of nothing at all. Just me and I wasn't much back that-- I'm still not. Just 'Axel' and no more. Roxas just looked at his hands and shut up.

And me? I did what I do best. I played the optimism card. I played the die-hard optimism card. I played it stupidly, but I played it all the same. "You know what they say," I said. "You can dress 'em up, but you can't take 'em--"

"Stop joking around," Roxas said. And then he apologized. "Sorry." Like he had _anything_ to apologize for.

"Hey..." I was trying to be all sincere and shit, but somehow my arm was working its idiotic way over to his leg. "Hey Roxas."

"Get off."

For shame, arm. I literally had to pry it off him. Which probably looked weird. Which probably sounds even weirder. "Come on, man," I told him. "This was supposed to be fun."

"_Was_ it?" he went. And he wasn't looking at me and my arm was hurting and the cabbie was making these sharp turns that had my skull cracking against the window. And suddenly I honest to God felt like shoving Roxas out of the fucking cab altogether. Telling him to go fuck himself because I was so _sick_ of dealing with this crap. With that crap. With his crap. I mean, how many guys do you honestly know who would do what I did for Roxas? How many goddamn guys would bend over backwards-- rinse their hair, fake up being their uncle, for crying out loud-- just to try and pacify some idiot with an ego complex that even _he_ couldn't pick up on?

Jesus H. Christ. Either I was an idiot or I was a really passive aggressive moron because all I did was take a real deep breath and close my eyes and ask him, "Why are you doing this?"

"You know why," said Roxas.

"But it's _fucked up_! This system is--"

"Yeah, but it's all there is."

"No it's not."

Roxas sighed. If energy was some kinda tangible what-have-you, it would've been pouring out of Roxas' pores and dripping on the fake-leather interior the cab had going for it. He was tired-- no energy-- and I was taxing him on something he didn't have much of to begin with. So I felt kinda... bad. Bad when rubbed his forehead and bad when he looked like he was hurting in some kinda way that had nothing to do with the lung he'd hacked up after the fire-extinguisher episode. Thank God he didn't cry. Thinking about it now, that probably would've had us both wibbling and bibbling like some kinda twisted baby bongo group, that. Roxas starts crying, the whole world mourns it. So Roxas can't cry, see. The world's got to keep going.

He must've known this, 'cause that's why he didn't cry.

"This isn't the only way," I told him again.

"So find a _different_ way, Axel. I mean... It's not like I didn't think about it, okay? I thought about it... I thought about it a lot. This is where it got me."

"And are you _happy_?"

Roxas looked at me with that kind of lopsided look he has on reserve for occasions when he doesn't know what the hell to say. As a general rule, I consider Roxas to be a pretty charismatic son of a gun. So for him to not know what to say or how to say it or how to say nothing at all-- really, it's rare. Hence, the lopsided look comes around pretty rarely.

But there it was, lopsided like he smile he offered with his lame little excuse of: "I'd be happier if you didn't light yourself on fire." I said he was pretty charismatic-- I never said he was a master at changing topics without making it glaringly obvious. "How's your arm, by the way?"

I could've pressed him for more info on his idiocy and intrigue into the art of being a public idiot, but I let it slide. I shrugged, I scooted closer. "Hurts," I told him. "How're your... er. Lungs?"

"Same." "...I guess... all things considered... we held up pretty well out there."

I gave him my shit-eating grin and my shit-hugging arms and the greatest noogie you wish you'd seen. "That's my boy," I told him. And with him laughing and being okay, he was my boy, I figure. For the first time in a long time, Roxas was my boy again. And I'm not gonna lie to you and I'm not gonna act like it didn't effect me. I can be a jackass, but I can't be a liar. I was happy, man. I was... Just. _Happy_.

You know?

And I wanted to tell him. More than anything, I guess, I wanted to tell him this shit so he'd have some wild and crazy change of heart-- so _not_ like Roxas, right? ...Yeah, so he'd have that wild and crazy change of heart that would send him quitting bands and showbiz and bring him back home. Or at least, where i figured home was for us back then. It sure as hell wasn't Orlando, Florida. It sure as hell wasn't the home that was outside the cab window.

But I couldn't say for sure. Roxas didn't have a home, I guess. And I guess that was what was part of what made it so easy for him to leave like he had.

And you know, I tried to tell him all this. Because I was thinking about it then and it was real quiet and everything and I was thinking '_Maybe I should tell him this stuff I'm figuring, this stuff I'm wondering. Because maybe if I tell him, he'll get it, too. Because maybe if I tell him, it'll effect him in some way.'_ But I didn't. All I did was smile some more and punch him in the shoulder. All I did was say, "Wouldn't it be cool to do this every night? Go get smashed, make public fools of ourselves, set some fires, and then run away in the nearest cab we could find?"

"You're so full of shit."

"But I'm serious. Tell me that wouldn't be an awesome life."

"It wouldn't be an awesome life." Silence. _Awk-warrrd_. And then: "I want _this_ Axel."

I didn't know if he meant 'this' as in Orlando or 'this' as in riding in cabs with me. I wanted clarification. Anyone would've. I was within my goddamn rights.

"Do you want this--" So I grabbed his hand and shoved that sucker right down my pants "--or that?"-- and I used the rest of my body to shove the kid against the door so he could see the city. So I could get my answers. "'Cause it seems to me you've got your priorities majorly fucked up if _that_ is really what you're going for."

It was at that exact moment that the cab stopped and Roxas shoved me back towards my side of the car. It was probably for the best, I guess. I mean, I'm not sure how tolerant Florida cabbies are. Either way, that guy was giving us some pretty shifty looks from that rearview mirror while I grappled with the door handle, kind of cursing it and kind of cursing Roxas at the same time.

Have you ever noticed how every goddamn car you get into has a different way of opening the back door? And how the handles are always hidden under something really fucking random-- like the little buttons that operate the windows? Yeah. That drives me nuts. This cab was like that. 'Cause it took me the better part of ten minutes to figure out how to open the goddamn thing. And by the time I got it open, Roxas was having one hell of a time trying to decide whether he wanted to cuss me out or laugh his ass off at me.

Instead, he just rolled his eyes and shoved me towards the open air. "'Night, Axel."

"You're not coming in?" A little twist and pull here, a little spin and slur there-- I wasn't as drunk as I had been, but alcohol was warm and bubbly in my... tumbly. Especially when I started playing with the collar on Roxas' tight little shirt. "Come on, babe. You knooow you want to."

"You're drunk."

"And you're sober. Who gives?"

Another eye-roll from our favorite teen hero and I swear I was almost concerned that those suckers would roll their way right on out of his pretty little head if he kept it up. Thankfully, he didn't. He just paid the cabbie. He just grabbed me, grabbed the door, and pushed both. "Come on."

Flash! A steady view of me 'n Roxas and the door to my room. Me fumbling for keys, Roxas tapping his foot and shaking his head. Me pressing him against the door-- fuck keys, fuck logic! Let's get dirty in the hallway! Roxas shaking his head and trying not to laugh. Roxas shaking his head and trying to push me off, but not really trying all that hard, if you know what I mean.

FLASH! A view that pans the room, tiny and third rate as it is-- goddamn, but it was a glorious room. Me pushing Roxas onto the bed, Roxas bouncing and throwing a pillow at my head, me crawling up the mattress and Roxas acting like he didn't give a flying fuck what I did so long as I left him alone in the end. Roxas acting, acting, acting like he didn't damn well want it and for all that he wanted to be some high and mighty director, you know and I know that he's probably the best goddamn actor this story has going for it to date.

Next to me, of course. Next to the leading man.

Flash, flash, flash, baby.

Me pushing his shirt up, Roxas pulling my belt off, me pulling at his hair, Roxas with his mouth open, me saying, "Let's play a game. We can kiss anywhere except on our mouths." Me pushing my fingers against his mouth while he talked around them.

He sounded stoned, but he could have just been happy.

"You got that from a song."

"What song?"

"I don't know."

"So play the game."

"Axel, don't be--"

"Play with me, Roxas. Or are you too _mature_ now that you're a pop star?" "Funny."

"Knock it off."

If you're curious-- which I'm betting you are, seeing as ninety-six percent of the world's air is breathed by dyed-in-the-wool perverts these days-- Roxas _did_ end up playing my twisted little game. And if I may be so bold as to say so myself, it was the best goddamn game I'd ever bullshitted into existence. There's something insanely weird about kissing someone on the side of their rib cage, but it's an insanely nice weird. You never notice some things-- like how well a mouth can fit into the hollows of your bones-- until you have an epiphany-like-gaming-experience like that was.

So we fooled around a while. It was probably the slowest we'd ever taken it, which I guess was a little bizarre. Yanno, some people think there's a graduated sort of pace for people to move at. That's what they invented baseball for. I mean the sexy kind of baseball, not the one with the bats and shit. Anyway, that's what they invented baseball for. Like, say, you start off making out. Once you're comfortable with that stage-- okay, you can take off your shirt. And once you've got that down, sure, why not the pants? And then finally, when your relationship--

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

Roxas and I had never moved like that. We were fast-paced kids in a slow-motion world. Except that night. We must've been playing my crack-happy game for something like an hour and a half and I think by that point I'd gained a few hickeys in a few places I didn't even know it was possible to get a hickey.

I looked like a battered woman in man-form.

But somehow he ended up riding on top of me and I swear to God the kid was a porn star in a past life. Suddenly, in the middle of rather passionate sex with Roxas, I had this grand old vision of me and him back at the shop I had at home, back at the dirty little Emporium and Roxas with his video camera and his porn-star motions. We could make_--film_ porn and sell it in the shop and we'd be happy as goddamn clams, we would. Roxas would write all the crappy plots-- but they'd be different from the normal porn-crappy-plots because they'd intellectual porn-crappy-plots and we, the two of us, would abso-fucking-lutely revolutionize the pornography industry. We'd blend soft core with hard core and it would be the sweetest, sexiest shit never seen before.

It was that thought, and probably that thought alone, that had me laughing during an orgasm-- which is an incredibly **weird** feeling, just so you know. You've got extreme pleasure and extreme hilarity at the thought of, well, _everything_, and it's all building and popping in your gut and your stomach hurts from the laughing and your throat hurts from the noise it's making and your eyes water because you're just _that fit_ to burst with all the _whatever_ flooding out of you.

And maybe Roxas could do a little mind-reading, a little thought-bending. Whatever it was, to this day, I somehow think he picked up on my crackpot thought box and he started laughing, too. He laughed so damn hard he fell off me and fell off the bed and kept laughing and laughing and laughing on the floor. He ass must've hurt like nothing else, but he just went right on laughing like there was nothing wrong. Like it was perfectly normal for some schmuck like me to be pent up in some third-rate-nowhere with a rising bigshot like him. Like we belonged there in Florida, land of rich-asses and retirees. Like lakeside mansions and vinyl siding were things of someone else's life-- someone else who was unimportant as anything, small as anything, and who had absolutely nothing to do with either of us.

x x x

So it was maybe two days after this that Roxas had told me to meet him for coffee. Coffee, for god's sake. Roxas doesn't even like coffee-- you know that? Doesn't even like coffee, but the goes to me, he goes: "Axel, meet me at Jana's Java at two, okay?" Only the thing about me and schedules and coffee is that none of us are compatible. Meaning coffee wires me up beyond belief and schedules kick me in the shins and down I go, baby. Schedules own my ass like no one else has ever owned an ass before. It is just that bad.

I'd written on my palm in Sharpie the day before, when Roxas had called. He couldn't see me that day-- they were going over the business odds and ends of music videos and he couldn't tear himself away for the crew for all of five goddamn minutes out of the twenty-four-hour day. I would've been pissed if he hadn't sounded so tired. So beat. So I wrote it out-- **_Roxas, 2PM, coffee_**.

And you'd buy it if I told you that it washed off in the shower. I know you'd buy it, but that's not what happen. I might be an asshole, but I'm not a lying asshole. And the truth of the whole damn matter is that I just forgot. I didn't look at my had and I just forgot. Bad Axel.

In fact, I didn't remember until eight. I spent that entire day in my hotel room, sleeping and watching porn and giggling about my Roxas-Axel-pornography fantasies. I'm not entirely sure how I could've been in Orlando on Roxas' money, staying in a hotel on Roxs' money, renting porn on Roxas' money-- doing all these things on Roxas' money and just have forgotten about Roxas, but as you should know by now, if you're me, anything's possible. Sorry, chicks, there's only one me. That's why you cry at night. Because for you, anything isn't possible.

Anyway. So my amazing skill had me totally forgetting about Roxas' existance until exactly 8PM when, while washing my hands after taking a piss, I realized that--_ 'HO SHIT, there's a Sharpie stain on my hand that won't come out. HO SHIT WAIT, that was important.' _ And the way I bolted out of that room-- the way I bolted out of that hotel... boy, you would've died in admiration of me. For the way I could bolt. Like a _shot_. Pss-shwee. Like a goddamn **shot**.

But for all my sprinting, cab-grabbing,**_ shot bolting_** talent, I couldn't change the fact that I was still six hours late. I couldn't change the fact that Roxas wasn't answering his phone. I could change a goddamn fact, but I couldn't change the goddamn fact that I was guilty as hell either, so when I told Mr. Cab Driver to take me to the Hilton, I was completely within my rights as Roxas' fuck-buddy to invade his personal public bubble on my knees and begging forgiveness. I had it all planned out, too.

_"Roxas, there was this iguana on the railing when I was leaving the hotel at three and it stabbed me with its claws and I had an allergic reaction so they rush me to the hospital, but then my papers were mixed up with a man getting a liver transplant, so I was put under and wheeled into the operation room and by the time the drugs wore off they were halfway through and my guts were all spilling out of me and shit and you would never believe how painful it was, man! But here I am! All yours baby! Liver and kidney and all!"_

Yeah. I thought it was pretty lame, too. That's why I sort of half-shuffled, half-snuck into the hotel feeling like the worst piece of junk I possibly could have at that time. Getting Roxas' room number was easy enough. I just hoped they wouldn't call him in advance to let him know I was coming. Then he'd get the gun out and loaded before I even had a chance to get the 'sor' out of 'sorry.'

Once I'd gotten to the third floor I was running down the hall towards Roxas' room-- or at least, where I was told Roxas' room was-- and BAM! I RAM into this person's ass while they giggle and backed down an adjoining hallway. Boing. Down I went. Like a-- well. Like a fallen shot. A _shot_ shot out of the sky.

Oh, but it got better. You know it had to. You knew it was coming. Don't ask. No excuses. Only results. ...Only Janey.

Only Janey, tipsy and in my face and on my arm like I was-- "_Ax_-el! **_I _**remember you. You're in the _siding_ business, aren't you? I'd _never_ forget a cute face like yours. Or a cute _ass_." And then-- wait for it, kids-- she slapped me. Not just anywhere, mind you. But _on my ass_. Cue the sick and compulsive shudder of terror and disgust only thinly veiled by some question I somehow managed to squeeze out of my poor little mouth.

"Is Roxas here?"

"Now why would you wanna play with _Roxas_, baby? _I'm_ right here." And she really was right there in every sense of the word. Both Janey and her two twin things from the black feminine lagoon. Her enormous breasticles were driving me backwards into a goddamn wall and I was quickly discovering the pitfalls of alcohol as witnessed from a different damn perspective. I was glad, right then, that I didn't have boobs to swing around when in a drunken stupor. God only knows what would've happened to the world had I been born a woman.

"Yeah, but I'm lookin' for Roxas, Janey, so if you could, uh, move those a little to the left or something. Yep. Er." Nope. She just kept right on pushing it and I think she was honestly planning on raping me or something, the damn bitch. All I had wanted was to see Roxas, for crying out loud, but Janey was starting to put her arms on my shoulders and move her head real close and say:

"Come on, silly. Don't hold back on me. I can _feel_ you, yanno. You like this."

"Y-yeah, I gathered that part." I was trying to bat her hands away from my pants-- something I wasn't really used to doing, so I was having some trouble-- and trying to explain to her a little something like, "Look, would you get--"

And if you thought it couldn't get any worse than Janey raping me in an upper class hotel hallway? Damn, you have no imagination if that's what you thought. Because guess who should show up? Only my favorite man-whore.

So "Hey," goes Kairi.

And "Fuck!" goes me. Mentally. I didn't actually say anything because Janey started warbling and I was still choking a little on my own vomit from the whole damn situation.

"_Kai_-ri!" Janed crooned. "If you don't look absolutely _awful_. Can't _sleep_, baby?"

"Maybe if the hallways weren't so loud," Kairi said. He was staring at me like I was something evil and Janey caught on pretty damn quick that she wasn't the center of attention anymore. After that, she just left. Just... like that. Poof. Leaving me with Kairi, who, for some strange old reason, looked about ready to castrate me and take my balls for his own at that point.

But, never one to forgo the opportunity for an _ally_-- or, or for some real _polite conversation_ of sorts-- I tried to strike up a note or two with the guy. I _tried_. You have to give me credit for _trying_.

"Have you seen--?"

"Roxas? No. Thankfully."

Insert blinking Axel face here. "What's that supposed to mean? What the fuck did you do to him? Where is he?"

And Kairi rolled his stupid little eyes-- a move that was eerily Roxas to me, so I kind of wanted to punch him for taking it-- before he went all huffy-like. Before he went and said, "Don't act like you _care_, Axel." And then he glared at me. He fucking glared at me, thirteen-inch heigh different and all and he still glared at me like I was the greatest scum of the earth. "God, you're such a piece of shit," he told me.

_God, you're such a piece of shit._

Boy, that set me off. I wanted to punch him, kick him, break his pretty-boy nose and give him the fattest bloody lip this side of nothing. But I couldn't. I don't know why. But I couldn't. All I could damn well do was fume and be so quietly, mentally pissed off that it was all I could do to ask him, "And who the hell are you to judge me?"

"Roxas' _friend_. That's who I am. And I'm apparently the onl--"

"Lord, you don't think I'm going with _Janey_, do you? Are you an absolute _moron_ or what?"

"What difference does it make?"

"Clearly some helluva difference or you wouldn't be--"

"Oh come **on**, Axel! Wake _up_, already! You're _nothing_ compared to Roxas, okay? I don't care what you're doing with Janey. I don't care what you're not doing with Janey. I care about what you're doing with Roxas and I will never stop caring because I will never stop thinking that you are _worthless trash_ when standing next to him. He's good, you're bad. He's rich, you're poor. He's loved, you're hated. Get the _fucking_ picture?"

I had never heard a pansy curse before and I will probably never hear it again. In that moment, Kairi wasn't a pansy, though. He was a burning, fiery ball of hate and claws and teeth and everything that squicked me about the American powerhouse of pop-culture all rolled into designer sweats that were a size too small. And still worse than that? Kairi's words actually, to some degree, really shot a giant, gaping hole in my meaningless, bony man-body. I stood there like he'd really shot me-- really whipped out a gun and banged me a good one-- just staring and not blinking, trying to register what he'd just said.

_'--you are worthless trash standing next to him.'_

Kairi was right.

I give credit where credit is due.

...And Kairi _was right_.

Kairi never stopped being right. I'm going to tell you right now, I didn't become a better person from all this. I'm not going to reach the end of this story and wrap it up with a fucking, "So what I learned from all this was--!" The truth of the matter is: I didn't learn **jack shit**. All I learned was that I was trash standing next to Roxas. And that was something I'd already known. So really, no, I didn't learn a goddamn thing!

So when Kairi had said that, when Kairi had asked me-- _"Get the fucking picture?"_-- I just nodded my head. Why? Because I _got_ the fucking picture. I got everything _about_ the fucking picture and, more than anything, I was totally aware of my place _in_ the fucking picture. My place was the bottom right hand corner. The place where the artist takes their pen and carves their name in, hard, deep, and permanent.

"Good," he said. "Now get lost already."

So that's what I did.

...Almost.

Actually, what I really did was scale the wall of the building, pull out my ninja glass-cutting utensils of ultimate power, rip a hole in Roxas' window, and sneak my way on in where he proceeded to wildly embrace me, tell me what a man-stud I was, and then let me screw him into the mattress all night long.

Not really. But I did find a decorative garden trelice that I used to clamber up to Roxas' floor. Once there, I was clinging to the side of the building for all I was worth, but I wasn't too badly shaken. Not just because I really _am_ a man-stud, but more because I was used to it from my days as a no-good lackey roofer working under my old man's orders. I tried matching my view from up there with the one I could remember seeing out of Roxas' window-- all to try and figure out exactly which of those damn windows belonged to my stupid boy. I got about three wrong tries-- only one of which was really scarring (a naked Janey is not something I really needed or wanted to see)-- before I reached his. And when I did reach his, I almost wished I hadn't.

Kairi was there, inside with my Roxas, sitting next to him on his bed. On my spot where I should have been. Roxas. Roxas' bed. It was, I swear to God, like watching some kind of sick movie, where everything you know is wrong is played up there for you on the television screen and all you want to do is press your goddamn face against the glass and scream "NO!" until you're blue in the face, but all you really end up doing is sitting back and watching. Biting your nails to the quick and sitting back. And still. Watching. Watching and listening, watching and listening, watching and sitting and biting and listening.

Listening because there's a gap between the sill and the glass because maybe it was hot outside but you don't really care because what they're talking about on the other side of the glass gap is _you_.

"He was supposed to show up."

"He didn't?"

"No..."

Now I guess you're wondering-- why didn't Roxas just call my cell? Ask me why I was late? Why I hadn't shown up? Well, I would have wondered the same thing, too. Maybe it was some sort of test. Some sort of inspection I just didn't meet. Maybe he'd had a rough day of it, maybe me not making it was the last thing he felt he could take. Maybe he wanted me-- for once, maybe he wanted me-- and I wasn't actually around. Why does anyone _ever_ get let down by someone else? They have expectations and their expectations just don't get met, you know? You come to expect things from people. People can't deliver.

It hurts, but it's true.

And all I could hear was Kairi being where I was supposed to be, Kairi saying the shit I was supposed to say.

"Hey, hey. It's okay, Roxas."

"Yuffie stood you up, too?"

"Yeah." Kairi with his shoulder against his, his head bending and looking pretty with his fucking hair this fucking darker shade of red. "We can rot like this together, at least."

"Rot?"

"C'mere."

"He said he'd be there."

"I know." Kairi with his arms all over my boy right in my line of sight. "C'mere." Kairi with his mouth against his hair and talking like he was something special to him. "You know, the thing with Axel... Have you ever thought that maybe...?"

Yeah. When you think things won't get any worse? That's when they always do.

"That maybe he just wants the sex part of it?"

"Yeah. Have you ever thought that?"

"Yeah. But that's okay."

"Roxas--"

They always, always get worse.

"It's all I want from him, anyway. It's not like I ever asked for anything else."

"Meaning--"

"Meaning nothing. That's all there is. Just sex. That's all."

"That's cool."

"It's enough."

"So... would you have sex with me? If I asked?"

And that's the last complete sentence I heard from there, from outside the window like I was. I didn't go away-- didn't climb down, didn't fall off. And no damn bolt of lightning struck me down where I sat, so there was no mercy for me when I heard the groans and moans through the window crack and I remember-- I remember just having my face pressed against the brick with my eyes shut and thinking about what kind of shit I felt like. I wasn't even the shit Kairi had said I was-- the shit next to Roxas. I was the shit away from Roxas, being my own trash that he didn't give a damn about.

And if that sounds mopey and if that sounds bitter and if you've got a problem with it-- fuck you, I say. Go through it and hold it together better, I dare you. I'm gonna come watch you while you dangle like I dangled and I'm gonna laugh when you hit bottom like I _didn't_. Fucker.

So you want to know why I had the guts to keep doing what I did? You really wanna know why I went through the shit I went through-- why I destroyed a whole handful of lives like I did-- when I apparently really, truly cared about Roxas? Open your eyes, shithead. I did what I did because Roxas did the _exact same thing_ to me. I backstabbed Roxas because he backstabbed me first. So if you wanna blame it one someone, blame it on him. And if you wanna point fingers, point one at him. I'm not denying my part in it, but I'm not denying his either.

We were both suckers for what we wanted.

I was a sucker for Roxas. But I wasn't willing to let him kill me dead like that. So. That said, can you really blame me? No. If you think about it, I don't think you can. Go ahead and try. I dare you.

You screw up once and there's no saving you. Sometimes it's almost enough to really make you want to hate the world. Yeah, sometimes it really is almost enough. But it's never _quite_ enough. Not quite. Not really.

(x) (x) (x)

H'okay. This would've come a lot faster had the world not exploded on my head this past month. I'll just leave it at: "Things went awry!" That said. You're all amazing for your patience and your reviews and your love.


	8. Olfactory Boy

**Marigold**

'Olfactory Boy'

x.Roxas.x

Kairi was pregnant and my life was hell.

I think it goes without saying, but in case it doesn't, the two of us never had sex again. I guess it was for the best. For the best that she got pregnant, for the best that... well, that it freaked me out so much, I barely let her _near_ me after that. Scared me-- how she didn't seem to care as much as I figured a girl should care. Went out to some basement job operation for fifty bucks in some shady hellhole of Seattle. I remember the rain on the hotel window when she came back from it. But of course it was a rainy-window memory.

It was Seattle, after all.

"Roxas," she said. "Hey, Roxas."

"Hey." I was reading something. I think I was reading something. Maybe I was on my computer. Maybe I was listening to music. I don't know what I was doing. I didn't really care when she came in though. I didn't really feel like sex.

"I had an abortion," she told me. Sat down. Unlaced her shoes. Rolled up the cuffs of her shirt and undid the top button. Didn't sigh. Didn't fidget. Just got comfortable, like she was settling in for the long haul.

I wanted to be sick.

It's pretty hard for people to understand if they've never been in a situation like that. Like the one I was in right then. It would have been one thing if it was just Kairi, just little old girl-Kairi up and getting a baby and everything. But with Kairi posing as a man, that added a whole new layer of difficulty to everything else. On top of that, I still wasn't legal. On top of _that_, I was still partially convinced that Kairi was something of a mental nut-case with a deep and scarring identity crisis.

And that idea-- that whole "Kairi's crazier than a hoot-owl" idea? Yeah. When Kairi started talking right then, right after she'd sat on my bed and told me she'd gotten an abortion? It only made me more convinced of this little theory of mine. Because I asked her if it hurt. She nodded. I asked her if she was okay. She nodded.

Said, "The only thing Roxas... The only thing is that I feel kind of bad, you know?"

I asked her why she felt bad. Told her it wasn't her fault. Told her it was _my_ fault because I didn't want her to fall apart on me or anything because I would be damned if I knew how to handle girls who fell apart.

"I feel bad," she said, "because the baby never got a hug. It hurt when it came out, you know. They used this root thing-- this root tea thing. Kind of started this burning, ripping, shredding feeling down there. I locked myself in the bathroom, like they told me to. There was a lot of blood and everything. And it hurt a lot, I guess." She smiled a little then, saying, "I saw the baby. Or at least. What I _imagine_ was the baby."

She said it was this 'little tiny ball of yuck.'

"You would've thought it was gross, Roxas. Because it was," she told me. Told me she saw it in the blood and picked it up and told the baby-that-never-was that she was sorry, but not sorry enough to wish it alive.

"If you think about it," she said. "I did the baby a favor. It probably would've killed itself if I'd let it live. And then it would've gone to hell. If you're Catholic. If the _baby's_ Catholic, I mean. Which I don't think it was. It just didn't _feel_ like a Catholic baby, yanno?"

And this whole time I was just sitting and staring and sitting and staring... I kept my mouth open like I wanted to say something, but nothing much would come to mind. We'd had sex weeks and weeks ago by that point. Back in Orlando, for crying out loud. Just once. It's not like I hadn't known it was risky. That's why we'd only done it just once. I'd thought it was all behind us. Clearly I'd thought wrong.

Clearly this was one of those moments that you're supposed to spend realizing that your parents _did_ know what they were talking about when they always said to use protection-- that your parents really _did_, on some weird level, know kind of what was best for you. Of course, my parents barely gave a damn about me by that point, so I wasn't exactly about to go on ringing them up and singing their praises or anything, but the thought was there. If I'm ever close to them again, maybe I'll tell them about this. But probably not. This is just one of those things you don't tell most people, I guess.

Except you. I don't know. Don't listen to me.

...Anyway. I really didn't know what Kairi wanted. I tried to hug her, but it was awkward. She wasn't crying, wasn't sniffling or anything. In fact, she didn't even look like she was all that sad. That was probably the disturbing thing, I guess. The nonexistent red flag that flew up over the entire situation. Kairi had just gone through this painful abortion thing and she wasn't visibly upset. Something seemed wrong with the picture, you know?

So I asked her about it. Anyone who wasn't a heartless jerk would've done it.

"Kairi," I said, "are you okay?"

"Of course I am, silly. It's not a big deal."

But the thing about it is, it _was_ a big deal. And I could tell. And I honestly-- I don't know what I wanted to do, I mean. It felt like I'd just severed one of my last contacts with sanity. Like that entire shaky, fragile understanding I'd had with Kairi was completely shot to hell. Like-- it was sort of like back in elementary school, when you're on the bench and you realize that you're that stupid last kid to get picked for baseball teams, only you realize that you're the last kid to get picked because you're a total jackass to everyone and no one likes you. That complete and utter feeling of shit-loneliness.

I was convinced I was going to eventually drive Kairi to overdose on a drug and commit celebrity suicide. And really, I would've felt much better about the whole thing if I could have sat her down and straight out told her-- _"Don't let this thing kill you, okay? Okay."_ But she was already sitting and I was still having trouble forcing sound out of my mouth. In fact, the only thing I could manage was this squeaky sort of breathing noise that was more than a little embarrassing.

"Roxas? Are you okay?"

Was I _okay_? Was _**I**_ okay? _**I**_ wasn't the one who had just had a living organism ripped from his gut by some demonic root thing. _**I**_ wasn't the one who had just dug around in a bowl of blood to pull out a clump of cells called a baby. _**I **_was supposed to be the masculine pillar of support here and all I could do was wheeze like an asthmatic... an asthmatic...

Well, an asthmatic thing.

God, I'm sounding like Axel.

The point of all this is: no, I was not okay. I had no real reason _not_ to be okay, but for every ounce of concern and mortification Kairi _wasn't_ expressing-- I was expressing it tenfold. Emotionally, I was a wreck. Physically, I was feeling clammy and weak in the knees. And mentally? I kept having these visions spinning through my head of my unborn baby coming at me in the dark of the night with a microphone and a tape recorder to drown me in his amniotic fluids.

And that's why I left. No joke here. Just me being chased out of my own hotel room by a one-night-stand girl who really didn't seem to give a damn that she'd just been bled dry of some kind of living thing.

I had to get away and collect myself. At least, that's what I figured. I would take a break for a while, do some thinking in the park or something, and then I could come back and be that nonexistent pillar of support that I figured Kairi needed. I sure as heck didn't want to be her boyfriend and I sure as _hell_ didn't want to be her husband, but I wanted to make her okay and I wanted to show that I could be there and that I could be a friend, if nothing else. Mostly because she'd struck me as being the only sane one in my life at the time.

Clearly I had been wrong about that, but I still didn't want to give up her friendship anyway.

And it would've been a flawless plan and things might have turned out surprisingly different in the long run if I had _actually _been able to get that thinking time and go back to Kairi in one piece. As it was, however, Luxord was lurking outside my room and no sooner had I shut the door behind me, he was dragging me off to _his_ room, looking angry as anything.

That walk down the hall to his room was an absolutely _terrifying_ five minutes. I was convinced he had heard Kairi and me talking. Convinced that her secret was out, that I was at fault for completely destroying her life, her career, her everything. But the minute he had his door closed, I knew Kairi had nothing to do with it.

On the desk in the corner was this unassuming manilla folder. And it was this folder that he picked up and brought over to me, shaking it under my nose like he was a suicidal freak teasing us both with a grenade. Which is, more or less, exactly the kind of thing it was.

Inside the folder was a series of pictures. And in this series of pictures were countless, countless shots of Axel and me.

The two of us getting coffee.

The two of us going shopping.

The two of us renting videos.

The two of us buying Cup o' Noodles from the grocery store.

The two of us... fucking in Axel's hotel room.

And I know, it wasn't even like I was wondering _'Where the hell did those come from?' _I was just... a little numb. It was one thing after another and I was sure that was it, that this would be the end of my life. Seventeen years old and no future to speak of. It's a scary thing to think, so your body shuts down because it doesn't want to hear it. Because your body doesn't want to hear that you could be, at the end of it all, a complete and total failure.

Yeah, it was the last-kid-on-the-bench-feeling all over again. Only this time, it was multiplied by fifty and topped off with the meanest, angriest look I had ever seen on Luxord's face before.

He had the courtesy to let me digest the pictures a minute, let me swallow even though my mouth was dead dry as anything. And then he said:

"You're done with him. Do you understand?" Swallowed, angry. Unlike me, his mouth was full of spit. On some subconscious level, I feared him spewing it all in my face in a fit of rage. But all he did was twitch a little, tighten his grip on the folder, and ask me again. "Do you _understand_?"

"Yes. I understand."

He threw the folder back on the desk, paced around a moment, and eventually took a few deep breaths, letting each one out very slowly. He came to the mini-fridge in the corner, drummed his fingers against it, then swung it open, taking a jar from the thing and knocking it shut. He seemed to have cooled off somewhat, so that was something. At least I wasn't worried about him blowing things up in my face anymore.

Luxord took a stroll around his suite, jar in hand, fingers dabbling in... olive liquid. Whatever it is they store olives in. I don't even know what that is, but either way, he slunk his way on over to the couch and slid down, feet up, jar on his chest and fingers rooting through olives. He said, "It's really for your own good, Roxas." Said it before popping an olive in his mouth, chewing slow for a second before swallowing. I could see it moving down his throat. Smacked his lips. Tipped the jar towards me just a bit. "Olive? They've got these strange little almond things on the inside."

Let it never be said Luxord wasn't an ordinary gentleman in an ordinary world. Truth of the matter is, he was. I just wasn't one for accepting strange food from ordinary men-- gentleman or no.

"No thanks."

"Your father called." He popped an olive, rolled it around on his tongue a bit 'til it was good and covered with his saliva, then swallowed the dang thing whole. You can tell a lot about a man by the way he eats his olives. But all things aside, Luxord looked at me, olive jar in hand, and told me, "He's threatening to press charges because you're a minor and you didn't clear it with him before you signed up for all this." This caused Luxord to snort and I thought it almost caused him to choke on his own spit, but he didn't. Instead he just said, "Basically, I think the man's a money-grubbing _prick_ who is only making efforts to compensate for _other_ areas in which he _lacks_ by engorging his wallet with other people's hard-earned cash."

That bothered me. There's an understatement for you. '_It bothered me_.' It bothered me so much, I wanted to take the bloody olive jar out of Luxord's hand and beat myself in the head repeatedly with it. It bothered me so much, I wanted to say 'bloody' fifty times over even though Luxord was the only one of us remotely British enough to pull it off.

Yeah. It bothered me. And it bothered me even more because Luxord could _tell_ that it bothered me.

"I know it bothers you, Roxas," he said. Those exact words. Popping another stupid olive in his mouth and sloshing it around and pulling out the almond center with his tongue. "You don't have to say anything. Anyway. No need to worry. By the time he can get it anywhere in court, you'll be eighteen and have enough money to afford the best attorney on the east coast. He'll hardly be able to touch you. Money really is power." He laughed, almost choked on his olive, and shut up again. But then he got going on celebrity court cases and I knew he'd never shut up with that one. "You know about the O.J. Simpson case? Back in the nineties? Or were you too young to remember?" he asked me.

"The last thing I really want to do is aspire to be like O.J.," I told him. Besides. O.J. was west coast, I figured. And west coast cases were way different from east coast cases. At least, I hoped they were. Otherwise the entire country was equally screwed and there was no saving grace for any of us anymore.

Though really, I would have been be a midwest case. And no one gives a crap about midwest cases nowadays. So it would've just been a nonevent.

"Fine, fine. Just making a _case_." Drum set joke play-- cue the comedic cymbals. Luxord laughed at his own pun, hitting his knee a little while he did it and I couldn't for the life of me figure out how someone so scummy could be so happy with himself all the time. He told me, "You're not the murdering type, anyway. That's what I like about you."

Well, that was good to know.

Too bad I still wanted to break his olive jar over his head and use the glass shards to rip his living flesh from his body.

Yeah. Wishful thinking. I was full of it back then. There are a lot of things you can do with olive jars and I was a creative kid lacking a creative outlet. Lip synching never did offer much in the way of expression.

Too bad for Luxord, I wasn't quite as "done" with Axel as he'd wanted me to be. I was still paying Axel's way. Still toting him along like a tacky-looking carry on. The kind you put in the chair two seats away so you can pretend it's not yours. But the kind that-- when security comes up to take it away-- you cling to and plead for like nobody's business. _"Don't take my luggage, sirs, I swear it's not an explosive."_ That sort of thing. That was my Axel.

And in Seattle, it was much like it had been in Orlando. In Atlanta. In Nashville. Everywhere we went to promote our album, everywhere we went to spread our name and our fame-- every damn place was almost exactly like the last. The climate was different, but the plan was always the same. Baby the media, look good, talk sexy, sing little (if at all). A formula of Luxord's that worked all too well all the time.

So after Luxord's little lecture, I did exactly what I would've done in any other city. I went down five blocks to Axel's shit hotel and made my way to his room. He was eating take-out on the bed in his boxers and it looked like he hadn't even bothered to shower that day. Not that I cared. Axel was Axel, and he usually smelled, felt, and acted the same-- shower or no shower. And anyway, I hate people who can appear to be perpetually well-groomed when they're really such stinking pigs in private.

He looked up when I came in, waved a cheap pair of wooden chopsticks around and spewed a bit of fried rice on the bedspread while he went, "Roxas, I figured out what we're going to do tonight! _Breakfast at Tiffany's_!"

I was wondering at that point if I was wearing some sort of expression or some sort of sign that told the whole world how depressed I was right about then. Maybe there was a piece of notebook paper taped to my forehead that read something like _"Father of a dead, illicit child, cheater of friends who are boys, donator to freeloaders, and hater of life."_ It could've almost been poetic if I wasn't so damn upset.

To put it in perspective for you, I would've killed to watch an Audrey Hepburn movie any day of the week. That woman has this old-style glamour about her that no one-- girl, boy, straight, gay-- can resist. But right then? I didn't have the slightest desire to watch _Breakfast at Tiffany's_. And I knew Axel didn't either. It had been the subject of many a pointless argument those past weeks.

"You hate Audrey Hepburn," I reminded him. Felt like I had to. Didn't want that nonexistent sign on my head to get him pitying on me or anything... You know.

Axel shrugged. Flicked some rice off the bed, watched it bounce on the carpet. "Sure, I'm not a _fan_ of her, I guess. But you are."

I sighed. Toed off my shoes. Sat on the bed. I probably looked like Kairi had, coming back from that abortion and all. Making it look like she was sitting in for the long haul. I think that's how I phrased it. And I think that's how I looked sitting next to Axel then, too. But if he was dead set on pacifying me and dead set on watching Hepburn, I sure wasn't about to go to any great length to stop him. The thing about Axel is that on the rare occasion that he wants to be nice to you, he'll tie you to the nearest chair and force-feed you his niceness whether you want it or not.

He's just... that kind of a guy, I guess.

"You sure it's not gonna bore you to death?" I asked him. Just to be safe. Just as a precaution. At least so he wouldn't be able to tell me I didn't give him a chance to bail out later. But he just shook his head. Passed me some lukewarm Chinese, half-finished and smelling like salt and grease.

"Absolutely positive," he said.

So he put in the movie. Holly Golightly and her timeless romance played across the screen and I don't think either Axel or I gave the slightest care. We were preoccupied, I guess. Or at least, I know I was. You get like that sometimes. You can't focus, or you want to, but you're just not entirely there and there's nothing you can do to bring yourself back to where you want or need to be. You're just--

Gone, really.

I think it was somewhere in there, somewhere when Holly was being kissed passionately, her hand placed just so and her neck bent just right-- somewhere like that, Axel said, "If Kairi was a dark-haired chick, he'd look a helluva lot like Audrey there."

It was as thought someone has grabbed my windpipe and had started squeezing it slowly, harder and harder and suddenly I was terrified. It doesn't sound like I was and it doesn't seem like I was. That's because I can't feel like that now, I guess. _Now_, I guess I'm more or less numb to that certain kind of terror that overtakes you when you're afraid of being discovered, of being found out. But then I just croaked, "What?" and wanted to ask-- but feared to ask-- so, so much more.

"Don't you think so?" he went. His lip was curling and I think he noticed a little, because a few seconds later, he just shook his head, shrugged, and scoffed like he does when he feels awkward. If you know Axel, you know what I'm talking about. But you probably don't. So I guess it's nothing, then. "Sorry," he told me. "Maybe you think Kairi's prett-y fuckin' manly."

"Why do you hate him, anyway?" I asked. Didn't know what else to say.

"Why do I** hate** him? _Hah_! Come on, Roxas. It's not like Kairi is _exactly_ all hugs and giggles when it comes to me. The fucker, like, wants my ass on a bleeding platter."

I wasn't so sure what a "bleeding platter" was, but I also wasn't so sure I even wanted to know. Axel was getting wound up and I didn't really know what to do. I was tired and really drawn out... And it was just. It got bad.

"You're so full of it," I remember telling him.

"You really think he's just sweet as fuckin' _pie_, don't you?"

"Whoa, calm down, Axel. Just watch the movie." But he didn't, he got up and he got angrier and angrier and he slammed his palm on the DVD player and it skipped and stopped and I just stared because I couldn't think of what to do because I'd never seen him really, genuinely angry like that. And when I _could_ think of something to do, it was stupid. It was pointless. It was just me, sitting stupid and saying: "Axel?"

"Sorry, it was making me a little sick." Him not looking back at me...

"What's going on with you?" Me starting to feel a little sick myself...

"I could ask you the same goddamn question."

"Would you stop being an immature idiot and just _tell_ me if something's wrong?"

"You fucked Kairi!"

"Oh."

"Yeah, 'OH!', you little punk-ass weasel!"

"Punk-ass weasel?"

"Roxas, don't fuck with me. _God_, you're such a little **whore**."

At least then I knew why he was angry, right? At least then I could know what to apologize for, right? But for some reason... I don't know. It all just felt out of place. Like Axel shouldn't have been upset. Like I shouldn't have been on the spot. Like I should have been in every right to do what I did and just tread all over so many people like I did. I realize now that it was probably that little taste of stardom I'd had that had made me into that person right then. That buildup had built _me_ up, as intended, to a conceited, self-centered jerk who took advantage of others without another thought. And I was totally oblivious. I just blew everything off.

"Cut it out, Axel."

"Are you _kidding_ me with this? We're seriously not gonna talk about it?"

"What is there to talk about?" I asked. In all seriousness. "If you want me to apologize, I'll do it. I'm sorry."

"So you're just going to fucking apologize and that'll make it all _magically better_?"

"Well, that's pretty much how apologies work for you, isn't it?"

"Okay, look, I told you the thing about me missing our stupid coffee-date was a _mistake_. You didn't exactly just fall into Kairi's pants on _accident_."

Accident. I think it was that word that did it, maybe. _Accident_... I thought back to that morning, back to Kairi and had she had looked, how she had talked. I was recalling everything in this weird, hypersensitive way-- I was remembering the way the skin around her mouth quirked when her lips moved, how the light caught her tongue when she spoke, how her backed curved and how the bed dipped hardly at all under her weight because there wasn't much weight to her to begin with. I remembered the way her breath smelled and I wasn't that close to her. I remembered the way her eyes were hollow and burnt and I couldn't grasp the concept that I had ever seen that expression before, even when it was plain and clear right there in my mind's eye.

It was ironic, what Axel said. "_You didn't exactly just fall into Kairi's pants on _accident." But the thing about it was, it _was_ an accident. Everything in this story is just one big accident waiting to happen. It's like driving a car down an 80-mile-an-hour highway and the brakes fall apart and the hood starts puffing smoke and the lights start going on and off and on and off and the gears get jammed and the radio spits sparks and you just _keep your foot on the gas_ because you're_ so intent _on running yourself into some wall you think you see in the distance.

All this was going through my head, one after another. I know because it _still_ goes through my head, even now. Someone will say something-- the word "accident", maybe-- and it will trigger the system all over again. The car that falls apart on the road and the girl that falls apart on your bed.

"Hey, Axel, listen..."

"I don't want to fucking listen, Roxas. I want to talk-- I want to talk at you, I want to talk with you-- but talking with you is a mutual thing, okay? Talking works both ways!"

"Well maybe you're holding me back!" I blurted out. I don't even know how it made sense, but maybe it did in some weird way. Axel was restraining me from something and I wasn't sure what it was, but I felt constricted on the stage and I felt constricted in the band and I knew then that it must have been Axel's fault. But I couldn't word that and he couldn't possibly be expected to understand that, either.

And I don't think he did. Because if it was that hard for me to grasp and possibly that hard for you to grasp, there's no way Axel probably could have understood that, at that particular period-- from where I was in the scheme of things-- he was holding me back simply by him being _him_. I couldn't talk to him, I couldn't snap at him, I couldn't do anything like that to him without this gut-wrenching... _fear_, I guess, of finally pushing it too far, of finally pushing him away.

And so no, he didn't get it because I didn't tell him that. Never did. I don't know if he ever figured it out, but I'm guessing he didn't.

"Holding you-- What the **fuck**, Roxas? Man, I-- man, I didn't think it was possible, but you really are just full of the biggest load of _bull_shit! Are you even _listening_ to the crap you're saying? I mean, **Je**sus, are you _hearing_ this shit?" He pushed me backwards and I think I hit the wall (not quite sure) and I think he got concerned (also not quite sure) because I do remember him above and in front of me, looking angry and confused and concerned all at once, and it made this sort of expression I've never seen sense.

"Get off, Axel."

"Not until you admit you're being a fucking dumb-ass about--"

"I said _get off_!"

"_**Fine**_!" He spat when he said it, but neither of us particularly cared because two seconds later he was hollering and his hands were fists and if he hadn't been so caught up in being so in love with himself as well as in love with me, he maybe would have been crying because when his voice rose, it cracked. He turned red and cracked, he fumed and cracked, and cracked. He cursed. But Axel always curses. This is nothing new. He said: "You--you cock-sucking _dumb-shit_! God, you wonder why no one fucking puts _up_ with you! Your parents didn't rid of you because you were _gay_. Your parents got rid of you because you make everyone fucking _miserable_!"

"I'm not gay, Axel. You're the one who can't--"

"I don't give a flying fuck what you are." He was heaving and red and cracked: "You're nothing to me."

And I honestly thought that was it. And I honestly felt right then like I wanted to die. I'd never thought a thing like that before and I haven't thought a thing like that since. But I honestly think I wanted to die. And I guess there are a hundred and one things that built up to that, that piled up to create that feeling, but I can't remember all of what they were and I suppose some of them are obvious enough as it is. I suppose the most obvious, then, was the thought of really, actually, possibly losing Axel. More specifically, the thought of losing Axel's adoration.

I had to _mean_ something to him. Don't ask me why, but I did. And the thought of losing that _meaning_ on top of everything else made me feeling like I was a blank. Worse than that-- I was a blank that hadn't originally been so, but had been erased and smudged into that blankness and... It was terrible. That's all I can really say.

If _**I**_ hadn't been so caught up in being in love with _myself_ and if I hadn't been so caught up in being in love with the _idea_ of Axel... Maybe I would have left without a word and gone and killed myself and that would have been the end of that. As it was, that's not what happened. I snapped, cracked for myself, and started dribbling tears and breaking down Axel's anger in just one fell swipe.

"I don't care!" I was yelling then. And crying. Yelling and crying, like always. I was still seventeen and it was still so obvious. "Okay? I don't care! I'm nothing to _anyone_. I don't _care_."

In the end, it was that simple. Axel lowered his hands, he changed color-- he wasn't this rage of red and hate anymore. He visibly deflated down into his former self, if not something slightly less than that. "Don't say that shit," he said.

"What?"

"I said shut up. Don't say that shit."

"What shit?"

"God_damn_, Roxas. Are you really that _dense_?" He laughed a little after that, but it sounded strange because he must have hurt his throat in all the yelling. He said, "You suck at fighting. For the record. That wasn't even ten minutes."

I blinked. I backed down. I hadn't even been aware that I had done anything _but_ back down in the first place. Whatever anger and emotion I'd had had disappeared somewhere along the way. "I didn't know there was a clock running," I said-- stupid.

"There's always a clock running."

"Axel, this is serious."

"You're right. And this is my serious face."

"Why are you even here?"

"You wanted me here. Remember? 'Axel, can you come down here?' Ring a fucking _bell_, Baby Einstein?"

And that was when my phone rang. Of course that was when my phone rang. I mean, it only makes sense, after all. We hit this pivotal moment in our... whatever it was. We hit this pivotal moment in our everything and my pocket starts jumping around and Axel just stares at my phone like he honest to god wants to rip it to pieces. It's how it goes. It's how it went. And all I knew how to do was bend to everyone else's will. All I knew how to do was answer the call.

"...I have to take this call."

"Who is it?" I had the phone to my ear and he was pawing at my hand, hissing, "...Dude, who is it?"

It was Kairi, but I wasn't about to tell him that. I was sure he really would kill me. Not that I was really feeling up to living by that point, but still. The manner of death Axel probably would've chosen for me at that particular moment was probably bound to be something particularly... rotten. And I wasn't one to look forward to having my guts ripped out and then stapled to my forehead before being doused with gasoline and set on fire. That, I was sure, would've been his plan. So I did what I could. I ignored him, I pretended to be totally wound up in that little piece of metal and plastic in my hand and by my ear.

To Kairi I just went, "Yeah?" like it was all smooth and all cool. She would never know the difference, I figured.

"Hey Roxas, listen--" I was wondering if she'd cried and hoping she had. I was wondering if she was really all that human like the rest of us. I was wondering if the rest of us were even all that human to begin with. "--Luxord, like, wants us to get together to go over--"

But I guess, despite my lame attempts to cover my tracks and not give away who it was on the line-- I guess Axel picked up on it. I can't really say I did all that swell of a job of masking it, though. He grabbed the phone, sneered, "Roxas can't talk right now, babe." Stared really, really hard at me and said, "He's **busy**. I'll have him stop by when we're done here."

Click.

While I was waiting for Axel to bring out the knife and staple gun, all I could do was make stupid protests. And I know they were stupid, all my stupid words and stupid complaints, and stupid, stupid _everything_, but I couldn't stop. I went, "You can't do that." I went, "Axel, you can't just **do** that, okay? It doesn't work like that." And I went, "Give me my _phone_, would you?"

"No." For a split second, I had this terrifying vision of Axel throwing my phone out the window like he'd done with my duffel bag (the loss of which I still blamed everything upon at that point) not too very long ago. Thankfully, he just threw the phone on the bed and stared me down. "God_dammit_, Roxas! Would you just sit down?"

"I have to _be_ somewhere!"

"You have to be _here_! You can't be two places at once, Roxas. And you sure as **fuck** can't be two people at once, either. Make up your fucking mind."

...I think there's a point at which anyone involved in anything loses their mind over **it**. Doesn't matter what **it** is. If you do anything at all with your life, it stresses you and sculpts you and... well, I mean, admit it. More often than not, it breaks you. Music is no different. Music is the worst of them all. The music _industry_ is the worst of them all. Look at Britney Spears. She's going to kill herself before she's thirty, hands down. And I feel sorry for her, sure I do. But that's life. And you choose the things you do and you choose the stress you put on yourself.

I was probably going a little insane by that point. Losing my mind because it felt like I couldn't control anything and all I'd really wanted was a new video camera because Axel chucked mine out the window. How lame, right? Throwing my sanity and my life away all for a... gorgeous, professional, beautiful film-making machine.

Yeah. Lame. To you, maybe.

And it was like... I don't know. It's hard to describe. I wanted to rip Axel apart sometimes. Because I felt like I could control him. Because Axel had this way of being completely vulnerable while being completely neurotic at the same time, and sometimes, the two things kinda blended. He became my neurotic, vulnerable tagalong who I wouldn't do anything for at all. I paid him money to come with me so i could walk all over him and treat him like crap.

Like I said. Hard to describe. But if you understand that it made sense at the time, I mean... That's a start, I guess. And you gotta start somewhere.

_"You sure as fuck can't be two people at once." _ That's what Axel had told me that night. Back then, I didn't think I was being more than one person-- that's the problem. Back then, I didn't think I was doing much in the way of wrong by anyone-- that's the other problem. In reality, I was stubbing toes and knocking heads just like the rest of them, and Axel was the one who got the most bruised out of anyone, but he never really complained. He never really looked at it in that light. Maybe I saw that, even then. Or maybe it was just coincidence. Maybe it was just me being a stupid rebellious teenage dirt-bag who wasn't quite done using someone.

Either way. I couldn't be two people at once. I started choosing, then, that I would be one person and I would be one person locked away in Axel's stale hotel room, peeling wallpaper, moldy sink drains and all.

I still have this stupidly vivid image in my head. I was lying on Axel's bed in that hotel room of his and we had the lights off and were staring at the smoke detector up on the ceiling. I don't remember if we'd been wondering if it still worked or not-- Axel said if the light was on it must have worked, but I wasn't so sure because the room kind of reeked like cigarettes and burnt fabric-- but either way, we'd eventually talked ourselves into a corner and there we found silence to keep us company. It wasn't a bad silence. With Axel around, there aren't often bad silences, if not because he's loud than just because he's Axel and he's natural and he makes people feel good and comfortable. If there's a lag in conversation, it's a natural lag. That's what I'm saying.

But Axel suddenly started up again with saying: "'The Sweet and Uneven Ground I Buried the Spoon in Late on a Thursday Night.' Wouldn't that be a great name for one of your songs?"

And I made him repeat what he said about two or three times more before I actually got myself into believing that, yeah, I'd heard him right the first time around. "Why are you so full of shit?" I asked him. Not because I thought he was full of shit, but just because I couldn't think of anything else to say to that.

"Gift of gab, baby," he told me. "But don't hate, don't hate. I'm only all too happy to share it with you. So whaddya say? Here's the first stanza, okay? Prepare for amazement, 'cause it's comin' at you riiight now." He cleared his throat, propped himself up on his shoulders and started humming. Off-key, but hey, I couldn't really do any better.

He went: "Uhhh'kay. 'Eeeverglade Fitz_wiggin_, my neighbor friend, came to me Thursday, said 'Baby, you're a godsend!' I knew right then the man was a _homo_, but Ma brought me up straight so's the boy was a _no-no_. Sooo 'cause I couldn't get my _hankypank on_, I just decided to end it on his _back lawn_. I'd been eating canned peaches on my old _lawn-chair_, 'til I got off my fat ass, grabbed him by the _hair_-- I said, 'Everglade, you queer piece of _trash_, you better watch our 'fore I kick your _ass_!'"

At that point I just had to say something. You can't just say nothing to that.

"Ass and trash don't really rhyme, Axel," I said.

And, boy, did that get him fired up. He got so defensive, so uptight, so agitated I almost thought he was joking. "What, is this, like, the speaking interlude to the song?" he went. "_Huh_? Is this the frickin' _speaking interlude_? **No**! This song doesn't **have** a goddamn _**speaking interlude**_ so if you'd just shut up and let me get on with the song, that'd be goddamn great!"

"Okay, Axel."

"You _bet_ it's okay. Now then. Where was I?"

"'Ass.'"

"That's right." He wiggled his shoulders around and kept singing in that dumb off-key voice of his, looking at the fire alarm light the whole time he did it, bullshitting his way into some poor excuse of a tune. "'Sooo Everglad Fitz_wiggin_ was a fixin' to be _riggin_' my pants down around my _knee-ees_! But I said I thought I told ya that I'd up and smack ya if you put that where only my eyes can _see-ees_! And that's when I stuck my spoon down his throat.'"

Not wanting to get yelled at for another speaking interlude, I waited a good minute or so to make sure the song was over before I said, "That was oddly sexual."

"Only on account of what a sexy beast I am."

"Or something like that."

That's my memory. That's the one landmark memory I have from that evening when I started choosing Axel over Kairi, over Luxord, over Promise.

x x x

The only problem with all that was this: the pictures didn't stop. And Luxord started getting furious.

x x x

But that wasn't for a while. He didn't really, _really_ get furious for a while, I mean. He didn't _really_ get furious until after I was eighteen.

x x x

The press didn't _really_ start hounding me until after I was eighteen.

x x x

Let it never be said those rats don't have honor.

x x x

"Why the hell does Luxord keep getting these pictures of us?"

"What?"

"Luxord knows we're... Luxord _knows_, Axel."

"So? He controls your _career_, Roxas. Not your goddamn _life_."

"My life is my career, Axel. Don't you get that by now?"

I said that. Me, me, me. Can you believe it? I mean... just. I don't know if I was naive or stupid or both. Maybe I was just extreme, maybe I was just trying to prove something. Either way, it didn't pay off. If there was a point I was trying to make, I never got around to making it. That much is for sure.

x x x

"So hey. Check out this site, man. It's you, huh? Isn't that wild?"

"Not really."

"My boyfriend the fucking celebrity."

"I'm not your boyfriend. Turn that off."

"Come on, baby. I'm just playin'."

"Is there ever a time when you're not '_just playin_''?"

"Huh?"

"Really, Axel. I mean. Do you _ever_ take anything seriously?"

"Do _you_? Don't be fuckin' _stupid_, Roxas. I mean, you know as well as I do that this is all just some sort of dumb-ass joke, right? A _game_, yanno? You're not gonna cut any films this way, Roxas. I mean, really. Come on."

"I already told you, Luxord's working on it."

"The only thing Luxord's working on is his adopted cousin's ass, man. _Probably_, I should say. Wouldn't wanna get charged with slander or anything. Not that it's illegal in Tinsel-town, though."

"What are you _talking_ about?"

"Look, Roxas. Duh. Here's concrete proof. I mean. **Websites** with message boards full of girls talking about how they soo-ooo want to tap you and you know the press is gonna be all over this shit once they get their hands on it. They're fuckin' _maniacs_! These guys are gonna start hounding your ass and they're not gonna stop until they've up and revealed every nitty, gritty, dark little detail of your sad little life."

"You really think that?"

"I told you to get out while you could, Roxas. You're in deep now, but it's still not too late. You can pull out now and I'll bet the press'll only whine a little. Just a little."

"...It's a thought, isn't it? ...But really, that's all it is. Just a thought, Axel. I signed a contract."

"No fucking contract can barter away your happiness, Roxas. Okay? Nothing should ever be able to--"

"Axel. Just. Stop talking. Okay?"

x x x

"Whatever happened to... What about _Breakfast at Tiffany's_?"

"We'll get around to it one of these days. There's a concert coming up, remember?"

"So you won't be stopping by?"

"No..."

"Your loss, man."

"Yeah."

"Go on then. Scamper off and kick yourself in the ass when you think about all the great Axel-action you're missin' out on. Enough to get you feelin' pre-tty stupid, if you ask me."

"Yeah. Stupid... Axel, you uh."

"Yeah?"

"Do you wanna come to the concert?"

"No."

"Why?"

"It's not like I fucking support your _cause_ or anything, Roxas. Sorry, but a night of shit music and screaming teenage fangirls? Not exactly my cup of tea. Much rather be here with _real_ music."

"It was a dumb question. Forget I asked."

"Will do. Now you better beat it or your wifey-baby'll be all over your whipped ass."

"_**What**_?"

"Your wife, yanno? Kairi? America's most fucked-up family, right there. You guys'll blow _The Simpsons_ right outta the water."

"...Yeah. Heh. Sure. That's what I was aiming for."

x x x

That's how it was. Fragments of weird little things and all I can remember now is the time I spent with Axel. Like I said, I started choosing him, you know? So I know I was spending time with the guys from the band-- I must have been, because I was making money and my face was everywhere and in spite of all the Axel-chaos Luxord kept under wraps, as my producer, he seemed happy. I think they were all happy. I honestly can't say. Mostly that's because I honestly can't say I paid them all as much attention as they deserved.

But from all these weird scraps and scribbles of conversations and events and everything, I remember this one time I called Axel the night before the show. The show I asked him to, specifically, because there were a lot of shows and a lot of places and even though it doesn't feel like it was forever now, back then it was endless. So somewhere in the endlessness was me wide awake and in bed and for some reason feeling so awful. I was seventeen, remember? I didn't need a reason to feel awful. It just happened. I could have said I was homesick, I could have said I was feeling like my childhood had been sucked dry, I could have even said I was just sexually frustrated.

All of them would have been reasonable excuses for my shit-feeling right then, but none of them would have been _real_ excuses. So when I called Axel, I didn't have an excuse to blurt out. The only lame thing I had to say was: "Hey."

Instantly I felt even shittier for waking him up because he slurred his words around his mouth a few times before he got them coherent enough for me. He said, "Dude. What's up? It's like... almost four. Don't you have a show tonight? Go back to fuckin' bed already."

"Wait, Axel." And I didn't know what to talk about but I knew I wanted to talk to him. Because I couldn't go back to bed like I was and I couldn't get over the feeling that something was really sitting wrong inside me. Like something had disconnected and in the dark I couldn't find the plug or the snap to reconnect it all. So I felt around for the thing, whatever it was, and even now I'm not sure if I pinned it quite right. "The... that idea I had. For a movie. The one I told you about that one time, remember? Did you really think it was any good? I mean, really. Tell me the truth."

"Of course it was good, man. You're a fuckin' genius. You're just a genius with no connections. But don't worry. I'll bet there's a lot of you out there. Maybe you can all rally and form a union. Underrepresented modern-day closet geniuses. That's what they'll call you guys. The, uh, the F-- that's for federation-- the _federation_ of underrepresented-- the F-U-M-D... uh. C... G. Mm. Become, like, a federal thing. Get some people in Congress, maybe. You'll go far."

I kinda stared at the wall for a minute after that. "Uh, sorry for calling you so early, Axel. I mean, I just--"

"I don't mind. In fact, I kinda like it."

"Really? ...But why?"

"Makes me feel like I'm kinda important. Well, that and the fact that this is one of those phone sex hours."

I should have guessed. "Phone sex."

"Not that you're going to give me phone sex. No, you're too cool for that, aren't you? Too, _too_ cool for phone sex. Nevermind that I've got this fucking _annoying_ boner right now."

"You're kidding."

"I kid you not."

"Why?"

"Dude, I understand you're still just a kid, but y ou're not a virgin and you're not naive. I was sleeping and you woke me up. Enough of an explanation for you?"

"Yeah, sorry. Want me to let you... uh, get back to bed then?" Or get back to whatever Axel had that needed getting-back to. That's what I meant. But it wasn't like I was going to say it or anything.

"Nah, just stay up with me a little while longer. You're not tired, are you?"

No, I just felt like a complete dick for waking him up and rattling on stupidly about my stupid movie that I wasn't even making. It was a pipe dream sort of thing and I was watching it kick me in the face over and over again and not really doing much in the way of stopping it. But no, I wasn't tired. "Not really."

"Good. 'Cause yanno, even if you were, I still wouldn't let you hang up on me, baby. So. About that phone sex."

"Hanging up now."

"No, no, okay. Not the night for it, then. Now what'd you call to talk about again? Were we talking? Or did you just like... materialize in my ear at an odd hour of the night at random?"

"Don't worry about it. How are you though? I mean, for, uh, a lack of a better... question." Lame.

"I'm good. Heeere in bed. I mean, I slept on my arm funny, so it's got that whole goddamn pens and needles thing going on. Fucking annoying, man. And the ceiling fan's kinda crooked-- just noticing that now-- and that fire alarm light is starting to look a little dim. Still got a hard-on. Kinda sucks. Did you know-- hey, did you **know** that you spend more time in your life trying to suppress a hard-on than you actually spend _having_ one? Pathetic. Your brain's constantly at it, going all-- '_Don't get a boner, don't get a boner!_' **all** the time, even about little things, but you become too turned on? That's it. You're done for. Your brain can't handle it anymore and **boom**. There's Little Roxas standing at attention and shouting _Heil Hitler_s and everything."

"Could you be more politically incorrect if you _possibly_ tried, man?"

"If I tried? Maybe. But trying is proportional to the amount of effort you're willing to put into a thing, and as we've already established, it is four in the morning and effort does not come so easily at four AM. Ahaha, get it? It doesn't _**come**_ easily and, like, _earlier_ we were talking about--"

"I get it, I get it." It was getting a little weird, but I'm not saying it wasn't enjoyable. In case you haven't noticed, I've never-- not one single time-- mentioned that I didn't enjoy talking to Axel. Keep in mind I could've cut off his life line of money any time I wanted to. But I didn't want to. That was just it. And realizing that sort of got me thinking. Four AM, curled up in some high-end joint and talking to-- "Axel?"-- and thinking.

"Yeah?"

"Don't you think you'll get sick of it?" I asked him. It didn't make much sense, and I wanted to elaborate, but at the same time, I really didn't. I was kind of wishing I could grab the words I'd just put out and swallow them in again. But I couldn't. So I licked my lips, said, "I mean. Don't you think you'll get sick of following me around like this? Won't you get bored? Like, aren't you bored already?"

I could hear him shifting around on the bed a bit and I felt sick to my stomach with wanting to be there with him. ...Man, does that sounds stupid, or what? Sorry. Whatever. Look, Axel just said something like, "Well, sure I'll get bored, Roxas. But see, right now? This is what I'm thinking. I'm thinking that you're subconsciously trying to figure out whether or not I'm going to ditch you in the long run. Because really, no matter what you say, you're attached to me now and you don't want to face this big, cruel world alone."

I didn't know what to say. I mean, I've never been so stuck as I was right then. I don't always say everything I mean to, but I at least have a comeback. I at least have **something** to say **most** of the time.

But what do you say to someone who has you pegged like that? What do you say to someone who knows you better than you do? Or, or not eve 'what do you say' but 'what _can_ you say'?

I could have argued with Axel or I could have disagreed with Axel. Wasn't it that simple? But I heard these words coming out of my mouth and they didn't feel like mine. They didn't feel like mine because they felt like coal instead and what I was coughing up into the phone right then was thick, black smoke that I doubt even Axel could really see through.

"Whatever," I said. "Whatever you say, that doesn't change things. You may be charismatic as hell, Axel, but that doesn't _change_ things."

And he was quiet for a while. And then he said, "You're right."

Just like that. _You're right._ "No matter what I say," he told me, "you'll keep doing what you're doing. You'll keep rolling along like nothing's wrong and you'll keep climbing some fucking social ladder 'til you fall right the fuck off. And nothing I can say will stop you."

I'm a pretty observant person. That's what I think would make me so good as a director, you know? I know how to observe things. The way a girl's lipstick always comes off on her glass in this pocked up little crescent, the way people stare off into space when they bite their cuticles, the way some people, sometimes, will smile for no reason at all in a crowded room when no one knows them and no one's looking at them and they're so lost in their own little mental world that for a moment-- for just a tiny fraction of a moment-- the line between their mental and physical worlds disappears and they are openly, outwardly happy.

I know how to observe people. But if I know how to observe them so well, how did I miss so much about Axel? Now that I think about it, it's all obvious. It's all right there and I know that if I just hadn't blinded myself to everything Axel did, silenced myself to everything Axel said, I would have seen all those signs he purposely dropped. I mean, after all, the guy basically did everything short of flat out telling me, _"This is what I'm up to, Roxas, this is what I'm doing."_ And I... was stupidly oblivious to think that all Axel **was** consisted of keg parties at some god-forsaken mansions and a dead-end job run by his old man. Axel had too much potential for that.

And I know it sounds dumb and I know it sounds desperate, but it's that kind of weird potential that made him so appealing in the first place, yanno. That _potential_. His goodness. Pictures started coming in more frequently after that and my birthday was just around the corner and Luxord got angrier and angrier.

"I can destroy your reputation," he said. "_This_ can destroy your reputation. Do you understand that, Roxas? Am I making this all crystal clear enough for you? Because I really don't think I am. Because you keep going around his goddamn place. He's going to ruin you, Roxas, and all the shit you're working for."

Of course, this isn't to say Luxord knew all of what was going on, either. If he had known Axel was behind it all, he probably would've handled it-- gotten it taken care of, no matter what kind of bribery, what kind of "influence" it took. I tried to be careful, I tried to be cautious. The pictures kept showing up. And I remember... it was like--

It was like the entire globe was personified in this one guy, this one _jackass_ who was just dead set on seeing me fail. That's what it felt like and it sucked. Someone wasn't trying to destroy the band, they were trying to destroy _me_. So I thought of the only person I could, the only random person I could come up with who might possibly want to ruin whatever shot at a career I had.

And that was how I met Sora.

It all started with Demyx, oddly enough. I'd never really bothered with him at all before then, but was talking to Axel this one night and we got into a argument, like we sometimes did. And I guess it probably got a little wild because right after I hung up, there was this knocking at my door. And I didn't want to answer it really, but I figured I should. I figured if it was someone who wanted to shoot me, I should open the door and let them.

I was in one of those moods again. Not as bad as it had been, but not very good, either. Lucky for me, it wasn't someone who wanted to roast me, but rather, it was Demyx, all head-mussed and decked out in boxers and a Pink Floyd t-shirt that looked like he'd worn it since he was an ordinary kid popping zits in front of a bathroom mirror.

Like I said, I had never really paid Demyx any mind before, but seeing him there like that, I kind of wanted to be his friend.

And then he opened his mouth and that feeling went away.

"Roxas?" he asked. "Uh. Hey dude. I heard yelling."

"Demyx...?"

He was grinning and looking in and _inviting_ himself in as he brushed past me, only then noticing the absolutely crap mood I had scribbled out all over my face. He leaned down, making me feel short and stupid and weak like always, and went, "Hey, why so low, huh? Damn, you look like shit. And it's late. You just can't keep screaming and waking everybody up, 'kay?" When I didn't say anything (only because I knew that if I tried to open my mouth to make a retort, I would probably wind up screaming at him), Demyx tried to make himself serious, which only really ended in making him awkward.

"You wanna... talk about it or something?"

There it was. My golden opportunity to let it all out. And as I sat there on my bed, debating over whether or not I wanted to hurl on the carpet or just hurl myself out the tenth story window, I started figuring that letting Demyx in might not be so bad. He didn't seem like a bad guy. He'd kept out of my way, out of my life, for the most part. Sure, he was loud and annoying and dumb half the time, and loud and annoying and oddly amusing the other half of the time, but I couldn't help but respect Demyx. In some weird... kind of... frowned-upon way.

I mean, you have to hand it to the guy. He had insane guitar skills and a decent enough voice. He was one of the few reasons I was able to blindly convince myself time and time again that Promise wasn't a complete joke. We had musicians-- they just make up less than thirty percent of the group.

But what it all boiled down to was me with my mouth open and my hands fisted and my lungs not working because I could feel the blood lodged somewhere along the way. Letting Demyx in right then seemed like it could be as near-fatal as letting Kairi in had been. You offer a bit of yourself up to somebody, hell, of course they're only liable to do the same in return. And before you know it, you're trading bits and pieces of yourself back and forth and investing so much of yourself in a person, even if you don't know it-- and then it's like, when you lose them? That's it. Snap. Over.

It's like this, I figure.

**Act 2, Scene 3.**

(_Man exits bar, calling back to the others inside. Just mindless goodbyes, nothing big. It's raining outside and he reaches for an umbrella he doesn't have. Upon this realization, he just sighs, kind of, then pulls his hat down over his eyes a little, sticks his hands in his trench coat pockets. He begins to walk down the street-- side view of his face shows the rainwater sliding off his hat. Switch to an over-the-shoulder shot as the man approaches a father and his girl up on his shoulders, holding a pink umbrella, singing a song._)

_Little Girl: _The sun'll come out tomorrow, so ya gotta hang on 'til tomorrow! Come what may! To-morrow! To-morrow! I love ya to-morrow!

(_As little girl sings, man develops a twitch in his left eye. Finally, as he draws directly beside the father and his girl, the man snaps._)

_Man:_ THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM, YOU IDIOT? DID YOUR MORON OF A DAD TEACH YOU THAT SONG, 'CAUSE IF HE DID, HE'S A FUCKING MORON! WHICH WE'VE ALREADY ESTABLISHED! THERE IS NO TOMORROW! THERE'S ONLY TODAY! AND IT'S ALREADY SEVEN O' CLOCK, SO IT'S ALREADY FUCKED UP GOOD AND DONE, OKAY? THAT'S IT! NO MORE DAYS, NO MORE HOPES, NO MORE CHANCES! THE SUN WILL BLOW UP TOMORROW AND WE'LL ALL HOPEFULLY BE DEAD!

Yep. Essentially, that was my internal reaction towards Demyx's radiant feel-good optimism. I knew he was full of shit and he knew I was having a shit time of things, and between the two of us there was just so much shit piled up that it's a wonder either of us ever got a good look at the other. I didn't want to confide in Demyx, all of a sudden. I didn't want to confide in Demyx because once I confided in him, he'd confide in me. And I had this deep, terrifying thought in my head that Demyx was probably a cross-dressing woman, too, just trying to make a go of it, and I would probably end up sleeping with him/her if any sort of friendship built up between us.

You wonder why I was a loner throughout high school? ...Well, this isn't really your reason, but it's a big part of it. People's problems terrify me, mostly because I have to go through hell to handle my own.

So there it was. I had decided to tell Demyx off. But then I remembered something.

Demyx had once mentioned a guy who had been with the band before I'd gotten there. I got the impression that I was actually just a replacement for him, really. It was that day, that one day that felt so long ago that I'd been dragged into the whole thing in the first place. Back at the Roosevelt Hotel, back when Luxord had just grabbed me off the streets like so many paupers being toted into a rich man's world. Or something. Either way, I remembered them mentioning a guy.

So I went, "Hey Demyx. Who do you hang out with when we're off? Like. You don't just hang around the hotels, do you?"

Clearly the question caught him off-guard, because unless I was looking to tag along with him, it wouldn't have made much sense for me to be asking that question. Demyx had probably been expecting an emotional outpour, not a minor little questioning into his personal life. Nonetheless, he scratched his chin, tilted his head and said, "Well, no. I go out sometimes. I have some old friends here and there, some of them travel, some of them see the shows, some don't."

"So who did you hang out with before I was around?" I asked. Instantly wanting to kick myself, I tried to rephrase it to make it not sound like I was being idiotically obvious, even though I really was. "I mean, like, what was everyone around here like before I showed up?"

Demyx scrunched his eyebrows together all thoughtfully and leaned against the wall. He was actually silent for a good long while, so I wasn't sure if I had asked the right question or not. I wasn't sure how touchy a subject Sora was right then-- mostly because I didn't have the slightest idea just _who_ Sora was whatsoever. But I thought he might be a lead. And I thought Demyx might be able to help me get to him.

I was right about one of those things. Demyx was able to help me get to Sora. Demyx was able to be one more stone I stepped on and disregarded at that time, because I didn't notice just how quiet I'd made Demyx, because I didn't notice how he sobered up after that, because I didn't notice how he started staring off into space like he was thinking, thinking all the time.

"Sora's with Riku," Demyx had said, real quiet, real soft. I thought he was just trying not to wake anyone else up. I thought I was onto something.

"Who's Riku?"

(x) (x) (x)

Stupid long time, no update. Insert standard apology here. I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, amen.


	9. Night Of The Theme Song

**Marigold**

'Night of the Theme Song'

x.Axel.x

Yes. Well. The world has seen far worse things, let me tell you, buddy. One guy sort of backstabbing another with good intentions is—well, that's nothing. And technically, it wasn't me doing the backstabbing—it wasn't **me** doing the dirty work or anything. Though it depends on what you consider to be 'dirty work', but if we stop to think about _that_, we stop to get into all the **nitty** and all the **gritty**, **bitty** bits of the business and no one—and I mean absolutely _no one_—wants that. Trust me on this. I'm keeping it plain and simple when I say that I am not entirely alone in the fault here.

I don't even know if I said that right. Well then let's just say there were two hands on the hilt of the sword in Roxas' back. If that doesn't sound oddly sexual, I don't know what does. But getting to the point. It was Larxene who took the pictures. Talented soul I am, even I can't manage the time-bending, dimension-manipulating skills needed to take pictures of myself through a window… while… banging Roxas on the other—no, no, it just doesn't work, see? It was Larxene who did the picture taking, Larxene who did the printing, the mailing. Larxene is one of those dyed-in-the-wool baddies on the outside, so she had no problem in doing it and never gave a second thought to what it was I was asking her to do.

Ah, but see, I guess that's where the blame does sort of come back to me just a bit. It's not like Larxene peddles porno for a living. That's my scene. She wouldn't have taken the pictures she did had I not specifically requested it of her. Ah. Well. Such is things.

Anyway, it was about that time—so the story goes—that Roxas started disappearing. Now see, for someone to, like… disappear, you'd think that it'd just be a matter of "Poof, that's it, gone-diddly-one." But that's where you'd be wrong. Roxas just went missing during certain times of the day, certain down-times when, all things remaining equal, he should've been seeking refuge with me in my hotel room with a tub of Ben & Jerry's between us. So don't think I didn't notice when I started seeing less of Roxas. Because I damn well did.

And whenever I got the balls to confront him about it-- be it over the cell or face-to-face, the conversation was always pretty much the same.

"So, where you been?"

"You know. Meeting people and stuff."

"Whooo ya been meeting?"

"Just… _film_ people, okay?"

As we've already established, Roxas is an ass-ugly liar. Meaning: he can't do it worth shit. So while I knew that he was lying to me, I didn't really see much point in ragging on him about it because I also knew that Roxas was stubborn. If he didn't want to tell me where he was, he was going to lie and lie poorly until I gave up and blew it off as nothing. Or, if that didn't work out, until I gave up and blew him off on my way out the door. But I wasn't about to do that. No, no. Nooo, sirree. When I don't get the answers I want, I go find them. Simple as that.

So I followed him. It wasn't all that hard, as Roxas kind of sticks out like a sore thumb painted with robin's egg nail polish when he walks the streets of LA. That's mostly because Roxas looks at the ground like he doesn't know where he's going, but he's afraid to look around for signs to point him in the right direction. It's kind of cute, but kind of sad, in the same way that a dog that walks in circles sniffing the ground is also sad. Roxas was an L.A. dog traversing the town, gaze to the ground and completely oblivious that I was playing stalker not twelve feet behind him.

And that's about the time Demyx showed up, I figure. I don't really know where he came from or what the hell he was doing around Roxas, seeing as never really got the vibe that the two of them were buddy-buddy or anything. In case you haven't caught on by now, there are a lot of questions that come up here that don't have a single, goddamn answer. I dunno what Dem was doing roaming L.A. any more than I know what I was doing wearing purple boxers on my twelfth birthday. The point of all this is to say: shit happens, and sometimes you can make sense of it and sometimes you can't. Demyx being around was a thing that made no sense and I didn't _want_ to make sense of it—I wanted him to beat it so I could focus on the task at hand, which just happened to be spying on Roxas and seeing what his devious little ass was up to.

"Yo, Axel! Dude, what're you doing out here, man? I didn't think it was you from a distance, but I mean—_man_, your hair hasn't changed a goddamn bit, huh? That's how I _knew_ it was you, man! Well, I mean, you just look the same as always, right? I thought you were still in Michigan? Hey yeah, and we never caught up or anything while I was there, huh? Damn. I mean, I really, _really_ meant to, man. Seriously. I saw you that one time and I told myself, 'Wow, there's Axel! Boy, we gotta catch—'"

"Demyx. Stop. Talking."

"…'Kay. …Why?" He got all shifty-eyed on me like he was wondering if we were being watched. Of course we were being watched. It was L.A. and Demyx was bordering on being a name in that town. This, for your information, would make him a Big Deal, and he would lose all privacy and everyone would always be staring at him. I wanted to point all this out to him, especially because he just was _wanting_ an explanation, but… I'm an impatient guy—always was, always will be—and Roxas was rounding the bend. I took off after him and—wouldn't you just _know_ it—Demyx followed.

There were two ways I could have gone about things. I could have gone all ninja on Demyx's ass and left him unconscious and bruised in some alley somewhere to be attacked by a conveniently-positioned press-mob soon after, OR I could have filled him in on what I was doing and left it at that, assuming that Demyx would be Demyx and insist on tagging along, like he always did. Now, I might be a heartless bastard at times, but Demyx fit into the profile of Ol' Buddy, and one thing you don't do to Ol' Buddies in my book is ninja them and leave them for genderless camera-people and the five o' clock news. It's just not a cool thing to do. Remember that. It's important. A life-lesson.

So I gave him a very condensed version of the story, leaving out all the juicy bits and hop-skipping along stealthily as possible behind Roxas.

"Okay, Dem," I said. "Here's the deal. The kid I'm following is kind of my boy, but he doesn't know it. In fact, if you ask him, he'll completely deny it. It's not because he's in denial—though he is—it's just because he's afraid. He's afraid because a thing like me will destroy his chances at any reputable career as a filmmaker, which is some sort of childhood dream he seems to be trying to fulfill with this bizarre-o rabidity that's just damn near _frightening_ sometimes. Probably, he's just real dead-set on it because his parents were both assholes and he probably didn't have a good childhood, so in his little pea brain, he figures that living up to his dreams will somehow make up for all that and give him a nice sack of rich shit to rub his 'rents' faces in. Following?"

"More or less."

"Good. Now then. Completely ignoring the fact that my boy isn't exactly the most faithful boy on the planet, he's still awkwardly near and dear to my little black heart, and me following him is just me making sure nothing bad happens to him. Never mind the fact that he's already cheated on me once before—I'm _totally_ not following him because I think he's up to any of that shit. No way. Hell no. Never crossed my mind. It's just out of pure, caring _concern_, yanno? Anyone would do it for anybody else—that's for sure."

"Right."

"Good. Boy, Dem, I'm sure glad we understand each other. Just like old times."

Just when I thought I was luck enough to have shut him up with brain-food to chew on for a good long while, Demyx ventured a little question. A completely moronic little question.

"You know that's Roxas, right?"

"…Yes, Demyx," I said. "I know who it is I'm following."

"Oh. Right. Well. I mean. I just didn't know if he was the boy you were talking about."

"…What other boy would I be talking about, Demyx? Do you see any other boys around here who I look like I'm following?"

"…Well. No. Now that you mention it, I don't."

Truth be told, there wasn't really a whole lot of traffic shifting around where Roxas had led us to. I figure it was a pretty high-end remote little stretch of L.A., positioned up on this grassy hillside with all these gorgeous, quiet homes lined up, perfect and identical-like and everything. Nice—if you did the whole modernized, cloning lifestyle of suburbia today. Me? I find it relaxing, to some extent. Sure, you never know which large, white, single-family home is yours (unless you make with the gnome lawn-ornaments on the front lawn), but that also means that if anyone tries to vandalize your home, they'll probably get the wrong house, and you won't be scraping egg off your car the next morning. Go on and admit it—I **have** a point.

Anyway, Roxas walked around the side of one of these many white houses, presumably in through the back door. I ducked into some bushes, made like a crazy G.I. Joe rip-off and army-crawled my way through the leaves and dirt and really soft grass up to the back door Roxas had just gone through some moments ago. Demyx just kind of toddled along behind me, not even bothering to hunch down or make any effort whatsoever to keep himself hidden—that dumbass. At least he ducked down when we reached the back window, though. At least he wasn't _that_ dense.

Obviously he'd been doing some heavy thinking during our little escapade up to that point, because that was when he said, "I dunno, Axel. I mean, by doing all this stalker shit, aren't you just kind of perpetuating the hellish lifestyle Roxas has going for him? …The hellish lifestyle _anyone_ like us has going for him? I mean, if you're, like, trying to put a stop to all the celebrity garbage, I'm pretty sure there are better, more lawful ways of doing it." He started nodding his head and tapping his fingers and it was sort of like that part in a musical where you can sense they're all about to break into song. "It's like that—that—yanno. '_Stop, he-ey, what's that so-ound, everybody look what's goin' do-own!_' Like that, man. Hippie… protests and shit."

"_**What**_?" Demyx was really getting on my nerves by that point and it was pretty much all I could do to keep my hands from locking around his neck and strangling him. "Look," I just said. "Try making sense for once, Dem. It might actually work. You might _actually_ surprise not only yourself, but the entire goddamn world. But before you get there, just shut up, would you? I can't hear a goddamn thing over your yowling. And stop _breathing_ so loudly, for crying out loud. You sound like a dying _ass_."

That probably confused Demyx, because I clearly remember him actually shutting up for a second while he tried to sort that one out. And I'm still not sure if he actually ever understood that I meant the donkey-ass, not the attached-to-your-bottom-half-ass. Some kids there's just no saving.

So finally he goes all _moral_ on me—like out of all the times I could've _possibly_ wanted moral guidance in my life, that _must_ have been one of them. He goes, "Look, Axel. I don't want Roxas seeing Sora any more than you do. I mean. Heck, I don't even want _Riku_ seeing Sora, but there's sure not a whole lot I can do about it." I kinda gave him this look. This 'I wonder how many times you've snooped around outside this house on your own terms' look, but he purposefully avoided it and just kept right on that soapbox of his. "This is wrong, man," he said. "_Jesus_. I feel weird lurking around out here—outside my own friend's _house_ like some—some creepy... stalker… creep."

"Listen," I told him. Not because I wanted him to understand me or to understand my crackpot motives or anything like that. More like I just wanted him to shut the hell up so I wouldn't get my ass busted. I told him, "_Listen_, you remember that time in freshman year when we snuck out to Larx's house at oh-dark-thirty in the morning, just to see if she slept in the nude?" Demyx gave me this blank look, but you could just _tell_ he knew exactly what I was talking about. "Trust me," I said. "This is far more innocent than that."

"But that doesn't make it right!" he whined.

"Right my ass. Either shut it or beat it, but frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

"…Isn't that a line from _Gone With The Wind_?"

"Shut **up**, Demyx."

"Like. Clark Gable? That was the guy, right? Did you read the book or just watch the movie? 'Cause I hear the book was way better than the—mmffglgle." That was my hand covering his mouth. I winced a little because he drooled a little. And by a little I really mean a lot.

"Do you know how much I hate you right now?" I asked. "It's a lot." And by a lot I really meant… well, a lot. Kind of like the drool. But drool aside, that was when Demyx mumbled something I actually wanted to hear. Eyes to the window, he was blinking and twitching his head around, trying to free his mouth. Finally, he gave up and just talked right on through anyway.

"Iss-Sowa," he said.

"Eh?"

"It's Sora," he said again, once I took my hand back and wiped it on my pants. Poor pants. Covered with drool.

I looked back to the window and sure enough, Sora had joined Roxas in the little living room. He was carrying two mugs, presumably filled with coffee, but also _possibly_ filled with some date-rape drug because I was still so damn sure at that point that Sora was just one of the millions currently wanting to get in Roxas' inhumanly scrumptious pants. …I started getting the feeling that I would have to get out of there quick if I had any plans of keeping my sanity about me after all was said and done. I had, after all, just thought of pants as being inhumanly scrumptious and as is common knowledge, it only goes downhill from there.

But Sora and Roxas seemed dead set on taking their time, neither of them in much of a rush to do just about anything. They sat there, drinking their drinks and taking their time and talking about Sora's **dog**, of all damn things, whose name was apparently Jimbo and who—honest to _God_—looked like the kind of dog you wouldn't feel too bad about for running over. The thing was ass-ugly and I couldn't for the life of me figure out why Sora let it in the house. I think it had some sort of skin or fur or skin-and-fur problem, because it was definitely balding something ridiculous and it sure as shit didn't look like one of those dogs that was suppose to bald naturally. If there is such a damn thing as naturally balding ass-ugly dogs.

On the upside, Sora himself was a cute enough kid. He had a build like Roxas—kind of small, but pleasantly so, you know? The kind of guy girls aren't intimidated by, the kind of guy you just wanna have a stroll around the park with, if only because you know he's the kind of guy who's up for that sort of thing. It was easy to see how Sora had once been a candidate for Roxas' spot held in Promise.

I kinda poked Demyx in the side. "You banged that kid?" I asked him. I had only managed to develop some very shaky idea as to the whole Promise drama that when down before Roxas showed up on the scene, but any time was a time for clarification, I figured.

"Shut up, would you?" went Demyx. That was clarification for you.

"Well. I mean. I gotta hand it to you, Dem. He's a cute one. Real cute, even. But _damn_, I didn't even know you went for guys. Totally in the dark." Now this was a big fat lie rolling right out of my mouth—Demyx was queer from the start and that was that. I knew that from day one. I also knew that Demyx had once had this suppressed crush on me for a good five years of his life, but I figured that by telling Demyx I was totally unawares, that would kill just about any sexual tension there could ever be between us. …Not that there had ever really been any sexual tension. I mean, he's Demyx, for Christssake. The kid's like my brother. Which is **exactly** why I didn't want to tap that ass in high school. Case closed.

Sora and Roxas weren't paying attention to Ugly Jimbo anymore and I'd completely gone and missed the first part of what they were saying. Idiot. I blamed Demyx. Silently. Sora was saying something to Roxas, Roxas said a few words back, and I think Sora gave out this noise that can only really be classified as an almost-laugh. Not a full laugh, but exactly what I said—an almost-laugh.

"Well, what were you expecting?" he asked Roxas. I didn't know—what was he expecting? And what the hell were they talking about? I felt like kicking Demyx. Demyx the damn distraction.

"I don't know…" Roxas fiddled with the handle of his coffee mug and it kind of looked like he was trying to figure out if it was detachable from the rest of the mug itself. Weird. Detachable handles. He must have been thinking it. But he just said, "Now that I think about it, I really don't know. I wasn't even into the idea of thinking or expecting anything. I brought Axel with me because…"

"Because…?" Sora went.

"Never mind. It sounds dumb any way I put it."

"And I sure wouldn't know anything about sounding dumb. No, no, not me. Come _on_, Roxas. I won't tell. I won't _rat_."

After a minute, Roxas stopped thinking about detachable handles and his eyes shifted somewhere else. Where, I couldn't tell you. Maybe it was just space he was staring at. Maybe it was dust specks. A lot of people, when they appear to be staring into space, are really, truly staring at dust specks. They're innocent enough. "Have you ever had this feeling," Roxas went, "that to leave someone behind you could be, maybe, the biggest mistake of your life? Like that person, girl or guy, could somehow change you completely and totally—_forever_—and that by leaving them you're missing out on that change and that self you could have been…?"

Sora was petting Jimbo's matted fur and it looked like he was thinking about nodding because he kind of moved his head a little bit and then stopped. But then he started talking and I figured that maybe I'd misjudged the kid and maybe he could, in fact, be a thinker and a park-walker at the same time. He said, "That thought like… 'What if this is _the_ person? But what if I'm too dumb to see it because I'm too young or too stupid or too…'" Pursing his lips in a way that reminded me of how little kids think, Sora finally did manage a real, full nod. He said, "I think maybe I get it. Dunno if I've ever felt exactly like that before, but I've thought _about_ feeling like that. If that makes any sense."

"When you were with Demyx?" Roxas asked. "I mean… you must've known it would kill you like it did. So why else would you have done it?"

I knew Demyx was listening next to me—knew it because I felt the guy tense up and go eerily quiet. I didn't even hear him breathe. _That_ quiet.

"I don't know…" Sora said. "With Dem it wasn't quite like that… I was scared because I was getting in over my head before the band had even really hit the press. And Demyx was just… " Sora smiled and I could tell Demyx relaxed enough to breathe, because I felt a puff of the stuff brush against my shoulder. It puts a person at ease when they can believe they haven't destroyed anyone too badly in the long run.

"He wasn't this huge old rock of confidence or anything," Sora was saying. "But he was smooth and natural and good at what he did. …And… and I don't mean it just like _that_, or anything. He was nice and warm and nobody else was like that where I was. I didn't think Demyx would open any new… _doors_ or anything in my life. I just thought he would keep me okay where I was."

Roxas nodded. They were quiet for a while—Sora, Roxas, and Ugly Jimbo between them. Then Roxas asked kind of quietly, kind of warily, "Was it bad when Luxord found out? With you?"

"Not as bad as I'm guessing it is with you."

"I know."

"Hey." Sora smiled again. "It's okay, you know?"

"…How can you be sure?"

"I can't." He chuckled and shrugged and made light of it. It was laughable—how easy he was taking Roxas' pain like it was no big deal, but I guess Sora was just one of those people built to deal with the shit of worlds. "I can't be sure it'll be okay," he said. "I mean, no one _can_, Roxas. But for what it's worth, I got this gut feeling that, for _you_? It will be okay."

"But what about for Axel?" Roxas asked.

Okay, pause. '**What about AXEL**?' I could've jumped through the window right then and there and just kissed Roxas' cute little face for saying that. I think I even had the urge to, because I kind of hit my forehead on the side of the house with all my stupid school-kid excitement at that point. Roxas _worried_ about me! Well, I mean, _duh_. He _worried_ about what happened to me and he had just then, at that sweet and particular moment right then, just _voiced_ that concern to a damn near stranger. If I was a lesser man, I'd have cried. Just burst into unmanly man-tears. Well, yeah, I mean, if I was a lesser man and if Demyx wasn't breathing down my neck, whispering something completely retarded, like, "Why'd you hit your head? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, shut up."

"Hey, chill, man. God, kill me for worrying, why don't you."

Ah, there it was again. Worry for Axel. For those of you out there who don't know it, somebody WORRYING about you is like… a natural high. However short, however damn brief, it is a high like no other because it means that someone gives enough of a damn about you to think about you, to think about the 'What If' of you and your life, to let their mind wonder about you and how poor-off you could end up being. God_damn_, but I love it when people worry about me.

Well, I guess that pretty much wraps up the events at Sora's house that afternoon. I mean, Roxas and Sora pet the dog some more and started talking about pop culture and pop culture related **things** and the like, but I had movies I had to return to the rental place. That… wasn't why I left, in case you were wondering. That was just what I told Demyx. The really real reason I left was because I knew what I wanted to know. Roxas wasn't banging Sora—he was getting advice from Sora in a perfectly tolerable, perfectly a-okay, brotherly manner. There was no doubt in my head that Roxas was being true to me. Cute as Sora was, he still had an ugly dog and guys don't like to screw other guys with ugly dogs—it's just **fact**.

That said, I returned my movies to Blockbuster all responsible-like and I even treated Demyx to a milkshake. And by me treating Demyx to a milkshake, what I really mean is that Demyx treated me to a milkshake because he was the one rich enough to bathe in milkshakes four times a day if he damn well pleased, and I was just the owner of a porno shop halfway across the country, where I wasn't. I really need to figure out the business of meaning what I say when I say it. But, like all things, this storytelling crap is a big ol' work in progress. As you can imagine.

So that night I called Roxas up. I just wanted to hang out with the kid, partially because I was kind of guilt-tripping about spying on him all day and partially because spying on him all day had made me remember just what kind of an awesome kid he _was_. He told me over the cell that he wasn't sure—he was in the middle of writing his script. So devoted, Roxas. "Bring it with you," I told him. I said that I wanted to see how it was coming, that I wanted to make sure it was up to the standards Roxas had set by giving me the run-down on the storyline all those days ago.

"Okay," he said, and he said it with a smile. You could just tell. Sometimes you can hear the smile in people's faces over the phone, because it kind of distorts whatever the hell they're saying. Then it can get a little funny if you play your cards right, because you ask them something like: _"Eh, what was that? I couldn't understand you. What'd you say?"_ And then they realize they were smiling so big that they didn't even make sense, so they smile bigger and make even _less_ sense and then it's all just cute, bubbly silliness from there on out.

What he had with him was act four—scene what, I don't know, but I do remember that it was act four. I'm not sure how movies divide themselves up into acts like plays do, but, then again, I'm not a film man—I'm a porno man, and there are no acts in porn aside from the obvious sexual ones. But in Roxas' act there was a man and a woman. I know that they had a background and I know that they had an entire story built up around them, their lives, and how dissatisfied they were with said lives. The woman is picking at the crust of her toast and the man is examining the broken end of a shoe-string in one hand and the scene is supposed to make it so painfully obvious that neither of them are acknowledging the one big thing there is between them that's left to address. Neither of them is acknowledging the fact that it's ending—that it has to end, because they can't keep sharing a life if they've each got their own half-hearted ones to live. It would be like trying to cram too many people in a lifeboat, like trying to fit too many people in an elevator—too many, too heavy, and if allowed to go, the weight will sink it fast—just fast enough to kill.

I think the woman said she was sorry. She said she loved him—maybe "love" wasn't the word she used because Roxas was too clever to use a word like "love" in a place it didn't belong. The woman and the man didn't, I think, "love" each other. Roxas told me they sought each other out, the way people of the same race, the same color, the same gender seek similar people out. People who suffer look for people who, like them, are suffering, he said. And then they suffer together. They don't improve, they don't learn, they just plain _suffer_.

Boy. **Irony**.

And as the story went the woman went to the window, claimed that nothing was going as she'd planned_. "You had a plan?"_ the man asked her. She said she had—at the beginning, when she'd thought they were things that could be saved, before she realized that it was all too late for that, that they were both too old, too engrained in themselves and their lives and their surroundings to change. It was too late. That was the entire point of the scene and never before have I ever encountered a situation that _squicked_ me quite like that.

I was about to say it was flat out bullshit, but I knew right away that Roxas would completely not understand what I was saying. I didn't want to insult Roxas. His writing was beautiful, his ideas were thought-out. It was just that the ideas themselves were horrifically depressing and not entirely true, in my opinion. If you're going to spoon-feed a crowd some horrifically depressing stuff, it can't be horrifically depressing _nonsense_. It has to be realistic. It has to be believable. And, in the case of Roxas' story-- Roxas' _script_-- that just wasn't the case.

So I thought about it and I chewed on my words and I thought about spitting them up, but then I just chewed on them a bit more, instead. And when I finally did say something, what I said was: "Well, _that's_ bullshit, isn't it?"

Which is pretty much exactly what I didn't want to say.

"What's bullshit?" He actually sounded kind of petrified, and for about three seconds I think I crushed his ego under my stupid, fat words that had just come out of my stupid, fat mouth. I tried to cover all my stupid, fat bases with still _more_ stupid, fat words, but I think I just kind of ended up looking like an ass. That's not a hard thing to do when everything you've got working for you just keeps coming up as stupid and fat.

I said, "I mean, all I'm saying is that I don't, like… you know. I don't really buy what's going on. I mean, the writing's terrific, Roxas. The thing itself is terrific, but the whole—this whole bit of the plot thing, this turn here, her feeling bad about leaving him… that's what feels like bull to me." He was looking at me and not saying anything, so I figured that meant he wanted me to continue. So I kept shooting in the dark like I was doing and I was probably killing a great many things that should've been, under any other terms, alive and happy. But, there you have it. "She says she had this big ol' plan from when they first started seeing each other and acts like, well, like by this point, she's given up on that plan. If she was really so into this guy, she should've stuck with it. So they're both doing something wrong—so they're both having an affair—so the guilt's tearing her apart—so what? In real life, people make sacrifices, man. And sometimes sacrifices aren't always made for some noble… bullshit reason. Why'd the chick go all noble? That doesn't seem noble to me, dammit. That just seems… like she's being unfaithful. Again. Only this time it's worse, because she's being unfaithful to her happiness. Which is all she's got."

I was completely lost in my own babble and I think I started drowning in it a little, because the next thing I said, I just completely pulled out of my ass as a last-ditch effort to make myself sound like a firm believer in something. I said, "Why don't you just kill her off and be done with it? She's nothing without this guy and what he gives her."

"You really think that?" Roxas asked me after a good long minute.

Relieved to hear him talk to me after that whole embarrassing, shitty speech on my part, I just kinda gulped and nodded. "Yeah," I told him. "Yeah. Her just giving up things left and right… it's fuckin' unrealistic. Fuckin'… just, unbelievable. She's human and she's happy. For her to give it up… like I said, I mean… it's just… not something I believe she'd do. Not something I'd believe anyone would do."

He nodded and turned to look at me. We were lying on the bed in my hotel room, the blinds half-open, and the mattress kind of lumpy in parts, but the sheets reasonably clean. I remember the way the sun kind of fell through the window in a kind of buttery yellow color and it painted Roxas—his face, his clothes, his hair—with that glow, but it didn't touch his eyes. It didn't dare touch his eyes, the sun. They stayed blue as ever. Blue as every when he asked me, "How is it you never believe in anything, Axel? All you ever do is shoot people down anyway. You're always saying it's me looking on the downside of things. You don't have faith in anything."

And I laughed. I laughed—idiot that I was—because I couldn't think of anything I could do to save my dignity. I'd just judged Roxas' story, judged his characters, judged every damn body on the face of the earth and _assumed_ that they were all as selfish as me. So, yeah, I laughed. Laughed and said, "On the _contrary_, Roxas! I have faith in a lot of things. I have faith in the idea that there is some logic to the food pyramid—whole grains are important and people need fiber."

"I'm serious, Axel," he said in his serious voice.

"So am I," I told him. "You didn't let me finish. I also have faith in the idea that people have this amazing ability to do terrible things to one another. But before you cut in, I also, _also_ have faith in the idea that people have the ability to do **good** things to one another. It's just a matter of me also, _also_, _**also**_ having faith in the idea that Man's Bad overshadows Man's Good. Every second. Every minute. Every day. Every year." I turned to look at him, to try and make a point, as if I had one. "Now I _know_ you're not a die-hard optimist. Even you can't deny that much, Roxas."

I'll never know if he was really listening to anything I was saying. I can assume he was or I can assume he wasn't—either way, it's all assumption. If he listened, maybe it bothered him. Or, worse, maybe it stirred something in him, something that said the rest of the world wasn't as selfish as he, that the rest of the world was mostly inhabited by jerks and losers like me, who would take what they wanted and give nothing back. If he wasn't listening to me, he was probably better off. He was probably building up his own argument in his own head as to why he was still right and still justified in making his story what it was.

Like I said, I'll never know. Because Roxas ditched that topic and we never addressed it again—how selfish or selfless the world could be. Instead he got this real thoughtful look in his eye and just started talking aimlessly, like he was just thinking the words and letting them dribble right from his brain to his mouth to the open air.

He said, "Here's what I'll do, Axel. I've got it all figured out. After this tour's done, I'll tell Luxord straight out that I want to see some progress made with what _**I**_ want. I'll tell him… I want the contacts he promised me. I want to be able to know I'll make that movie. I'll make him keep up his end of the deal. I'll make that movie. I'll get rich, I'll buy a… I'll buy a penthouse somewhere in some big city by some big park and we—you can be there if you'd like. You won't have to live in that crummy old apartment anymore and I'll go there too, sometimes, and work on scripts and… it'll be good."

"…Sure, Roxas. You do that. You buy your penthouse and you make your movies."

"You don't want it?"

"What I _want_, Roxas, is my crummy old apartment above my crummy old porn shop with a crummy little kid with a crummy little past all pent up in my bedroom because he's got nowhere else to go. But we don't want the same things."

"I guess we don't." And he went back to staring at the ceiling.

Have you ever been in one of those regulated rooms with the speckled, textured ceiling? Usually white, with a bunch of rough little bumps and dots all over it? I'm sure you have. We all have. Hotel rooms, dorm rooms, conference rooms—you name it. Everywhere you go, you find these ceilings. Run-of-the-mill ceilings in run-of-the-mill places for run-of-the-mill people. And the thing about these ceilings is that when you stare at them long enough and when you stare at them hard enough, the dots start to form shapes. And if you're really tripping or if you're really staring—and I mean **staring**—at these dots, they can even start to move. My aunt once read me The Page Master when I was just a twig of a kid and I could see the entire story, word for word, playing itself out of my ceiling. It was great—absolutely the damn most _fabulous_ thing. Of course, that was back when I had an attention span for stories, and the imagination to move dots with my mind.

But right then, at that moment, lying on that hotel bed, I was thrown back a little bit to who I was as a kid. Roxas had been telling me his story and I had been staring at the ceiling and I had seen every little thing—I had seen him writing, I had seen the penthouse, the park, the beauty of it all. But I was missing from the picture. Try as I might to put myself together in the dots, they wouldn't budge. I wasn't there. My mind was dead sure of it, even if my heart didn't necessarily want it. A sad thing, but the ceiling had no reason to lie and I knew that. It was, when you get right down to the root of the matter, a ceiling, after all, and ceilings bare no grudges, only the marks of their years spent towering over people's heads.

"Why am I here, Roxas?" I asked. "I mean—not the literal sense of it all. Not the 'you called me up, you paid my fare'—not that sense. Why am I _here_, of all places? We don't belong here. You don't belong here; _**I**_ sure as hell don't belong here… We don't belong here." I sighed. The dots didn't make pictures anymore and I really was alone in all this and that's a scary thing to come to terms with, especially when you're me—just me—trying to convince someone you're worth something. I said, "I mean—and I know I've worded it a lot of different ways and I know I've never asked you straight up—has it ever occurred to you, even once that you may just want to try it with me?"

"Try what with you?"

"Don't be fucking _dense_, Roxas. It's not your style. Try _living_ with me, maybe—I don't know!"

"I'm practically living with you _now_. What more do you want?"

"I want you to _actually_ live with me, Roxas! Like in a real life! What the hell do you call this crap, anyway? This isn't real! This hotel room isn't even real, for Christsake—the antique dresser's made of plywood!" I could have told him all about the dots—how even the dots on the ceiling weren't real, how even, maybe, the dots wanted to damn well convince me I would never be a part of Roxas' life because the dots were so angry they weren't real dots and they were out to get me. But that was over the top and I was feeling a little over the top and everything—every damn little thing—had gone from being okay and controllable to just completely, utterly, unmistakably over the top.

"When are you gonna get it through your head, Axel?" Roxas was asking. I was trying to come up with answers to my own questions and excuses for my own actions and all Roxas was doing was giving me more to do—I couldn't keep up. But I couldn't very well tell him to shut the hell up and let me think. I couldn't very well tell him to shut up when he said, "We want different things out of life. You just said so yourself. You're free to go whenever you want. You can go back home."

He kind of fish-eyed on me a moment when he actually realized what he'd just said, and you could tell he'd give anything to eat those words of his right then and there. '_You can go back home._' Hah.

"You called it home," I said.

"Your home. Not mine," he countered.

"It's always yours if you want it. But you have to want it to have it."

"I don't want it," he said. And because I didn't know what to say, I said nothing. I just stared at the ceiling and the pictures that weren't there and I thought about how, earlier that day, I could have cried for the joy of knowing that Roxas worried about me. And right then I could have cried for the hate of the fact that Roxas just didn't seem to care enough.

I wonder if, maybe, Roxas knew about the dots on the ceiling, too. We were both lying motionless on the hotel bed, staring up at it—the ceiling and the dots that hated my guts and wanted to see me feel like shit and won.

Eventually Roxas got up and eventually he picked up his cell phone from where he'd left it on the desk.

He said, "Just go. You want to."

So I did.

I know that's not what you wanted to hear, but I left. Checked out of my room the very next morning and used the money they "returned" to me for the nights not spent in the hotel to buy myself a ticket on a Greyhound back home.

It was, hands down, the worst experience of my life.

The stops were at these smelly joints and all the guys were old and creepy looking and all the girls were wasted and drawn-out looking and everything was hell on a metal, wheeled casket plowing us all the way to goddamn Michigan. I don't even remember how long it took, but it felt like ages. And it took each and every one of those ages for me to come to terms with a lot of things, but I'm sure as hell glad I did. In that sense, the trip was something of a revelation for me. I hadn't just up and left a place ever in my entire life. Why? Because I'm all-around a pretty damn dependable guy. Aside from that, I can also be a pretty desperate and clingy guy who likes to stay in one place and make the place work to his liking—I'm not gonna lie about that. But I started to realize that when it came to Roxas, there were some points in which I'd bitten off way, way more than was humanly possible to chew and swallow without choking.

I couldn't do it. I don't think anybody could. And when I first set foot on that bus, I wasn't ashamed then that I'd abandoned Roxas_. Let him do what he wants with himself!_ I remember thinking. I was angry—so fucking angry. _Who cares what happens to damn old Roxas_? I thought_. I sure as hell don't. Nobody sure as hell should, that's for sure. He doesn't care. Just as long as he gets his fucking fame, his fucking movie. He doesn't care who he destroys in the process—he's just like the rest of them._

And I think it was about the time we hit the Great Plains that my mind sort of started changing. I started thinking back on it all—all my time with Roxas—and I couldn't really pinpoint any precise moment when it wasn't all worth it, when sticking it out with Roxas didn't somehow strike me as being rewarding and fulfilling. Roxas had a lot of shit to carry. I don't think I knew anybody with more baggage and to this day I probably still don't. The kid's mood never helped him out—he wasn't an optimist, he was just stubborn and determined as hell and that was it. And there's something about helping stubborn and determined people along their rugged path that just gives you, without a doubt, the most amazing, all-around GOOD feeling in the world.

I went along on this train of thought for a while. We stopped in Miles City for a half-hour break and I told the driver I was staying on the bus. He gave me this look and puffed himself up a bit, just to try and give me the message that if I messed with anything I'd get a surefire ass-whooping as my reward. I wasn't planning on messing with anything, though. All I wanted to do was sit on that bus and stare out that window and keep following my thoughts wherever they were leading me. I worried that getting out and grabbing an egg salad sandwich or whatever would break my train of thought and I'd never be able to really, truly understand just whatever the hell it was that really, truly needed some sort of understanding on my part.

We made it out of Montana and were well on out way into the Dakotas and I was feeling damn good. I was feeling like maybe things weren't so impossible after all. I was feeling like I would go home and cool my heels, and then jump right back into the scene of things. I was feeling like I could turn things around, like I could give Roxas a call and bring him back to me and that was all it would take in the end. I knew Roxas was head-over heels in love with me. That's all I needed, right? Because in THIS WORLD, we live by that naïve little notion that love stands all strong and true and mighty and shit about everything else. That's just what we All Americans think, dammit.

And I was in Madison, Wisconsin before I experience a reality check. I don't know what it was that caused it, exactly. I was at a rest stop, washing my hands in the sink and heading on over to the little hand-drying machine they had there when all of a sudden this big, ugly hell of a realization came up and bitch-slapped me one across the face. And I stood there, my hands all dripping on the floor and everything, just soaking in the pain and shock that came with said realization.

So let me explain.

What I realized then is that there is no such goddamn thing as True Love. There are good matches and there are bad matches and that's about it. The rest is myth and anybody who believes in myths deserves sympathy, because they're on a sure-shot road to failure in life. And because no such thing as True Love exists, it can't conquer everything. In fact, it can't conquer much of anything. Love itself can maybe be a cheerleader for some other drive—for Stubbornness, for Resistance, for Lust—all these things are real and we see physical proof of them every day. But Love sure as hell isn't everlasting and Love sure as hell doesn't have a whole lot of strength going for his own team. He's just a backup—like I said, someone who cheers and supports, but ultimately sits on the bench when the action all goes down.

Everything I'd been thinking during that entire ride across the country was complete and utter bullshit. My love for Roxas wasn't going to get me anywhere because I didn't have jack shit to fight for that idea. I had no ground to stand on and nothing in Roxas' department looked like it was going to give in anytime soon. To a degree, Roxas was more stubborn and more thickheaded than I was because what **he** was going for, ultimately, was his life-long dream. What _**I**_ was going for wasn't anything more than an emotion, and as we've established already, emotion doesn't stand a chance against much of anything else.

_That_ is what made the trip terrible. It all fell into a downward spiral after that. All the way home from Wisconsin I couldn't stop thinking ugly thoughts. I couldn't stop thinking about how doomed I was because I didn't have the balls to stick it out for the long haul without truly going insane. And I couldn't stop thinking about how Roxas was a selfish, heartless pig, only out for his own gains and no one else's. I could picture him shrugging off my leaving like it was nothing. '_Oh well_,' he probably said. '_That's one less expense I'll have to worry about. Let's get this show on the road._'

And could hear him going at it with Kairi in my head. I could hear him going at it with everyone. Every damn one of his stupid boy-band posse, rocking it up in the L.A. Roosevelt, not caring about whatever we'd had in the cheap rip-off Roosevelt back home with it's crappy lighting and its crappier mattresses. I had visions of Roxas not caring, of Roxas' Stubbornness and Determination turning on Love and crucifying that poor mother right on the field for all to see. Against that wave of grit and drive, I knew I didn't stand a chance. It was hopeless. What on earth had ever made me think I could stand in between Roxas and his dream like that?

By the time I got home, I was in an even worse state. I hadn't felt that low since the eighth grade, when I made an ass of myself by breaking my collarbone while trying to do a skateboard trick on a ramp I'd made out of cardboard. My pride was in shreds and if my ego was a limb it was amputated. On a similar note, if my ego was my _dick_, it was damn well castrated. While hoping that ego was only ego and nothing bordering the physical, I went upstairs to my apartment, threw my shit on the floor, and locked the door behind me. The place smelled stale, but I really didn't give a damn. Everything was just as I left it and that was all that mattered. It meant there were no pieces to pick up—just a space to slide myself back into and make like tomorrow was just like every other day that had ever been and ever would be. Oh, the trials and tribulations of routine, baby.

I rattled around my apartment for a week—two, maybe, I couldn't tell time by that point and didn't care much about it either. So we'll make it two weeks, give or take some days. Two weeks I sat around and stewed in my own misery, my own hurt and anger and all other miserable miseries my mind could cook up for me. Two weeks and then I made a phone call. An angry phone call, a spiteful phone call—a phone call that would change the course of pop culture history, even though the call lasted all of fifteen seconds. Five seconds for the ring, for the answer on the other line, and Ten seconds for me to spit out my message and hang up. The conversation was this:

"Fuck it, Larxene. Publish those pictures. Publish all of them."

x x x

Two weeks and a day—and then there was Roxas, in all his irony.

I wonder if you saw that coming.

You probably did.

I remember how he looked, which shouldn't be all that surprising, seeing as how I remember how everyone looked back then. When I think of these people now, I don't picture them as they are now, I picture them as they were then, how they'll always remain in my mind—young and perfect and irreplaceable like I thought they once were. Roxas, that day, looked older, more mature, somehow, than he'd looked before. Maybe he had turned eighteen since I'd left. Maybe he'd had his picture on the cover of Rolling Stone, a headline declaring him legal and ripe for the picking. Maybe, maybe, maybe, but I couldn't be sure. All I knew is that Roxas was as beautiful then as he had been at the beginning—if not more so. Older, but still beautiful. And I remember wondering, _'If two weeks can make him look like this, what will two years do? Will I ever be there to know?'_

"…What're you doing here?" I asked him. I didn't care that I'd been staring at him for what was probably a full five minutes. The shop was my turf and Roxas was on it. I told myself I could stare if I wanted—I fed myself excuses to keep myself from keeling over right then and there.

He said they had a concert in Detroit that night.

"Detroit's a big city," he told me.

"Detroit's a ways away," I said.

"Detroit's a Big City," he said again, and oddly enough, I knew what he meant. It made me smile-- that fact. I could pick up whatever the hell it was Roxas was trying to get at even if no one else could. He went and stuck his hands in his pockets and looked around—really looked around for the first time since walking through the door. "I like what you've done with the place," he said.

"Just settling back in. You know the drill. Or. Maybe you don't."

"…Your hair's crispier looking."

"_I was cryin' on it, you fucking dip_." I could've told him that. …In fact, let me tell you what I thought.

What I _thought_ was I should've said that. I would've laid the cards out on the table—"_My hair's crispy because I was crying on it_." And then Roxas would've been all awkward because no one ever knows what to do when a guy cries—especially a guy like **me**, for Christssake. For some wild reason, whenever I get the tiniest bit emotional—whenever I get the _least_ bit emotional and it looks like there could be a good set of old, dark clouds on the horizon, no one has a goddamn idea what to do. They just kinda stand around nodding with their hands in their pockets, moving from foot to foot like they're serving a purpose and all they're doing is taking up space in cramped-up world and all I'm doing is feeling more like shit because they're feeling awkward and shit-like and I was feeling awkward and shit-like to begin with. And things get _awkward-er_ and _shittier_ and it's just a big old mess.

And so I thought to myself before I said those words_—"My hair's crispy because I was crying on it"_—and I **thought** to myself, _You know? I don't think Roxas needs to be awkward-er and shittier. He's got enough awkwardness and shitiness to deal with. For all that I hate his guts at this particular second in time, I don't much want to make his life unbearable, because in a few seconds, I might not hate his guts quite so much._

And it was true, in fact. In a few seconds, I didn't really hate his guts because all he was really doing a few seconds later was standing there staring at me, and no harm has ever come from standing and staring.

"I'm sorry," he said eventually, "for what it's worth."

"And what would you do if I said it really wasn't worth all that much, huh? I mean, _really_, Roxas. What the hell good does saying sorry do anybody anyway?"

"Well, that wouldn't make me any less sorry."

Damn near broke my heart, it did. Here was Roxas, man of the hour, big man on campus, yadda, yadda, ten-thousand-and-one other poorly-worded comparisons—here he was, a Big Deal, practically on his knees before me asking my forgiveness, not a hint of evil to him, not even the slightest _impression_ of the bad-ass Hollywood attitude they'd damn near driven him straight into. And right then I knew I didn't want Roxas to succeed in life. I didn't want him to get any further in that career of his and I sure as hell didn't want him to get within a twenty-mile radius of any godforsaken movie industry. The kid wasn't cut out for that kind of stuff and I wasn't about to sit around and watch the world mold him into some monster that was cut out for it.

That, ladies and gents, is why I made it as far as I did in that plan without so much as a guilty conscience. I saw, right then, this poor little kid that Roxas was. Roxas didn't see it—maybe nobody else saw it. But I saw it and I wanted to protect that sorry little squirt before he did something drastic that he'd regret forever.

So I told him.

"There's gonna be a lot of articles about you Roxas. In the tabloids," I said. No tact, no nothing. I didn't have it in me to tell him anything but the truth by then. "They have more pictures. They have _all_ of the pictures, I mean."

Roxas blinked. He kind of looked like he was going to curl up and die and I kind of felt a little bad about this. Kind of. But keep in mind, I was still living by that _"THIS IS FOR YOUR OWN GOOD"_ mentality. To some degree, I still am. All things aside, however, I kept right on explaining, letting out this little sigh and playing with this little dildo shaped key-chain that just happened to be sitting on the counter. I didn't mean anything by it, really—it was just a nervous habit and we were, after all, in a porn shop that just happened to sell various porn accessories. Such as dildo key-chains.

"Roxas," I told him, "I should probably tell you that most of this is all my fault. Not you getting all fucked-up and wise-ass. That's the rest of the world's fault. What's **my** fault is what's _about_ to happen. The pictures Luxord got were supposed to be a, a warning—not just to you, but him, too. Clearly you guys just didn't **get** it, though… I wanted you to stop while you were ahead. I wanted Luxord to want _you_ off his hands and I wanted you to see that you're just not built for being the kind of guy stardom requires you to be. Do you see what I'm getting at?"

Roxas was pale. "No," he said. And that was that. To try and cover my own ass, which seemed to be becoming rapidly exposed, I chugged on.

"What I mean to say is: you're gay, Roxas. And the nation isn't quite ready for someone so gay to burst the traditional bubble of lights and glamour that comes with the territory of being loved and adored by the records, the filmmakers, the whoever-the-hell—the big-shots."

"I'm not gay," Roxas said. "For Christs_sake_, Axel, I'm not gay. I've told you this a million fucking times and I—"

"You're here with me, aren't you?"

"That doesn't mean I'm--!"

"And I know that," I told him. "You're with who you're with—I know that now. And I'm sorry I—whatever—said the wrong thing or called you the wrong name. I'm sorry I pushed on it earlier and I'm sorry I convinced myself you were something you weren't. But you're with me here, now, and there's a reason for that, Roxas. I don't see things in the black and white and neither do you. But that's not to say the rest of the world doesn't, because I assure you, one-hundred percent, they almost certainly _do_. They see you with me-- you're gay in their book. And they're not ready for that. They can't handle that."

That bad feeling I'd been suppressing felt like it was starting to bubble up in the back of my throat like puke. Roxas looked dizzy, looked achy, looked fifty years older than he should have been. He was closing his eyes and rubbing his temples, but I remember thinking so damn selfishly '_Thank God he's not crying_.' "Did you ever, even _once_, think about talking to me about this before doing something so… so stupid?" he asked me.

"I tried, Roxas. I _tried_. What do you think all our fights were about? I tried to get through to you, but you just weren't having it, man. I tried so goddamn hard to make you understand but you wouldn't—you couldn't because they'd gone and blinded you to who you were."

"And who **am** I? Because _clearly_ you know me so well you can just make decisions on my behalf without—without so much as a question in my direction! Who the hell am I to you, Axel? Who the hell am I to you that—that you have the RIGHT to ruin my life?" I was obviously tearing the guy apart and I felt like the shit-covered heel of a boot doing it. God, but that's the worst feeling.

"…I already ruined your life once, Roxas," I told him. "I would never do it again. I was saving you."

"No you _weren't_. God… _dammit_, Axel! You destroy _everything_! You just can't do anything right, can you? All you do is wreck other people's lives because you're so unhappy with your own! It's not my fault you don't have any _dreams_ or—or _goals_ in your big, stupid life! It's not my fault you can't turn it around and go where you want to go! It's not my fault you can't make yourself into something **worthwhile**, Axel!"

"But I _am_ something worthwhile," I said. It wasn't because I was egotistical. I was egotistical as hell, sure, but that's not why I said it, see. "I'm not a waste of your time or anybody else's, dammit. I'm _happy_ where I am. I'd be happier if you were okay, so I'm trying to make you okay."

"Well I'll be okay if you stay out of my life, alright?"

"I don't think you will."

"Well clearly you don't know anything about me."

Ah, but see, that was where he was wrong.

"You're Roxas," I told him. Because at the very least, I knew his name. "You got kicked out of your mom's house because she didn't like the fact that you couldn't control who you were attracted to, and you got kicked out of your dad's house for the very same reason. You look good in black. You're in love with movies and you've got this romantic view of the world that just won't die. Because of that, you've stuck through all the shit your life has given you and you've landed yourself in this spot you don't know what to do in. You love me, but you hate the fact that you do. You slept with Kairi, but you hate the fact that you did that, too. But you're a _damn_ _good person_, Roxas. You're a damn good, talented, gifted, brilliant, _genius_ person and I love you. And I'm sorry that pisses you off so damn much, but it pisses me off, too. Don't you think I'd rather be with someone less fuckin' _complicated_ than you?"

Clearly that thought had never dawned on Roxas. In fact, I'll bet that thought had never dawned on you, either. You and Roxas have the same mentality as far as that's concerned, then. Here I've had you thinking all along that I was going after Roxas because Roxas was this thing I wanted right then and had to have right then, come hell or high water. You never even thought that for me, there wasn't any goddamn choice in the matter. If there was a choice in the matter, I never would've let that scrawny little kid into my apartment that one day he just sort of showed up. I never would've had anything to do with him other than a brief make-out session in his bedroom, rain and thunder outside and Audrey Hepburn's gorgeous face staring down at us from up on his wall.

If there was such a thing as choice when it came to me and who I ended up with? Roxas never would've played a part. Roxas would be famous now—this brilliant star in a bleak world of look-alikes and scumbags—he'd have everything he ever dreamed of and more. And me? I'd probably still be running the porno place, some little someone at my side, in the upstairs apartment, cooking up something amazing because I can't cook worth shit, but I sure as hell love food. And I'd be happy and Roxas would be happy, and the world would be this Technicolor wonderland of scripted lines and unending perfection.

Hell yes.

But you know, I know, the whole fucking _world_ knows… that's not how it is. Shakespeare was clearly on crack when he said that bull about the world being a stage. The world isn't a fucking _stage_. Stages mean rehearsals, understudies, props, scripts, and the whole nine yards and let me tell you, there ain't _none_ of that shit in the real world. The real world is exactly what it is. It's a giant sphere and you're standing right on the top of it, trying to keep your balance and trying to get where you need to go without falling off. And there's shit that blows you over and there's shit that knocks you down, but the point isn't that you get knocked down, the point is that you get back up and you keep rolling that fucking metaphorical ball where it needs to go and you get there or you damn well die trying.

Roxas didn't say anything else. After he stood there a good minute or two, he just turned around and left. He wasn't angry anymore. There was no door slamming, no cursing, no hollering. Nothing like that. I don't know what he was but he wasn't angry. He _just was_ and he was going to _just be_ somewhere else, where he could hopefully get away from me and hopefully get a moment's piece to himself, get a moment to think and sort things out. That's what I figure at any rate. Whether that was actually what he was looking for and whether he actually got it or not—who knows? I sure as hell don't.

All I know is that the stands were packed with those pictures the next morning. I had swarms of girls in the store, all clamoring at me, all asking me if it was true because they had to know. They just **had** to know. And I just had to tell them the truth because there was nothing else that I could do. The pictures were there. There was no denying them.

Some of them asked me what it was like, but they never really clarified what exactly 'IT' was. Did they mean having sex with Roxas? Going on my own secret _looove_ tour with Roxas? Or just _**being**_ with Roxas the only way we knew how to really be with one another? I didn't know what they meant by their questions, so I just answered the best I could. It was all the same response anyway.

"It was good," I told them. "It was good."

(x) (x) (x)

Ell-oh-ell, college. Insightful Axel. I wish I was coherent so I could come up with a more intelligible explanation as to why I suck and don't update, but, alas, this is what you've got. And hopefully, you'll get more soon. Note the 'hopefully'. Meant to be said with emphasis on the 'hope' and not much else. I love you.


	10. Kinesthetic Boy

**Marigold**

'Kinesthetic Boy'

x.Roxas.x

Luxord's brilliant plan for the survival of Promise probably would have been really, truly brilliant under different circumstances. What he had in mind was an encore performance that would set the crowd wild—something real sexy, real definitive, real pop _culturesque_. What Luxord had in mind was a Promise rendition of Billie Jean. What better way to break into the big charts than to pay tribute to a big name? And not just a big name, but the biggest of all names. No one made pop like Michael Jackson made pop. Daring to pull a song like Billie Jean out of the hat might even have been considered to be kind of presumptuous, but it was a risk Luxord took—and took wisely, as producer. I never said the guy wasn't good at what he did. Let it never be said that ambition can't fill your pockets. It can fill it like nothing else can.

So there we were, all five of us in front of the big British man above, completely not knowing what to do. How were we going to pull a thing like that off? Better yet—how were we going to pull a thing like that off with so little time to figure out what the hell we were doing? Still better. Why were we even _doing_ it?

I think it was Tidus who actually asked that question. But you can bet we were all thinking it.

"So. Why are we doing this again?" he went.

"I think we all know why," Luxord said. And the truth of the matter was, in some way, on some level, all of probably did know why. It was a last-ditch effort to save whatever dignity the group had going for it—one last attempt at a bigger name before we were sold off one by one—not a group, then, but facets of a whole that had once been. I suppose that if I actually really cared about the fate of the band, it really would have been a whole lot sadder for me than it kind of was. Weird, then, how the only two people I really did care about were the only two people who really did want the band to make it. Nothing I could say here could express how pained Kairi and Demyx looked at that moment, both their gazes to the ground, refusing to look me in the eye.

It was then I realized that I had done to them exactly what Axel had done to me. I'd ruined their dreams, and I couldn't find it within myself to care enough. I let my own selfish reasons for what I did stand between me and reality as some sort of reason for doing what I'd done. I tried to console myself any way I could—tell myself that it was okay because the both of them were better than pop—had to have been better than this dumb five-boy-scene they'd wound up in. But regardless of what they deserved and what they could have had better, I'd destroyed their chance at it. Axel had destroyed my chance at it. I was no better—no different—than he. And I had never hated myself more.

x x x

They put me in this idiotic costume—probably as some kind of really weird form of revenge for ruining their careers. It was sort of hard not to get the feeling that I was being tarred and feathered before some sort of public execution took place—and when I say it was an idiotic costume, I really do mean it was an idiotic costume. The shirt was some kind of clingy white spandex with these… tube lights stretching from under the arms to the hem of the shirt—the hem of the shirt that, just for the record, didn't even fully attach in the front. Not that it was unbuttoned—buttons could have, well, you know. Been buttoned. It just had these slits in it, one from the top and one from the bottom and I might as well just not have worn any shirt at all.

Coupled with a pair of blank pants that felt five sizes to small and looked five times too shiny, it really was just that bad. I don't think anyone should be able to look at their legs and see themselves. There's just something metaphysically troubling about that… I think.

I also think it kind of goes without saying, but… I don't know. For your benefit, I'll say it anyway. I wanted to die. But Luxord wanted to make sure that my death was as publicized as my affair had been.

Twenty minutes before the show, I stood in the dressing room and stared at myself in the mirror. I was an undersized boy of eighteen, no closer to being a man than I'd been at the age of five. What I saw in the mirror then was all the world would ever see or know me as. Roxas, the boy who didn't make it as a teen pop idol, the boy who would live on in the black and white of The New York Times as that and only that. The boy who screwed around and got caught. The really stupid, pathetic boy who screwed around and got caught, at that.

I started wishing that they actually would tar and feather me then, because at least _then_ it would create the illusion that there was still some pride _left_ to be lost. And even if it didn't pull off any kind of illusion like that, maybe I'd be lucky enough to look a little more intimidating as a tar-and-feather monster than as a… well. Whatever I was dressed as. I couldn't really tell. And I couldn't really bring myself to care about it a whole lot either, on account of the fact that I suddenly realized that my life had peaked and the only place it had left to go was down.

It was probably a good thing that Demyx knocked on the door when he did then, because otherwise I probably would have driven my skull into the dressing room mirror and not given it a second thought—mostly because I probably would have been unconscious and unable to give it a second thought. It really doesn't matter. I'm just talking at you. Sorry.

Anyway, he said, "Hey Roxas," and, "You okay?"

"I'm fine," I told him. "Really."

He looked around the room for a few seconds—just long enough to make me kind of annoyed and get me kind of wishing for some alone time so I really could hit the mirror. But then he looked back up. He almost looked kind of sheepish. And he said, "It's gonna be alright, yanno?"

When he said it, he said it awkwardly. Sincerely, but still awkwardly. It was the kind of awkwardness that told me that Demyx had no idea, really, what he was doing in my dressing room like he was, but that what had driven him there was, most likely, some kind of unfortunate, obligatory impulse to comfort someone he didn't even really know all that well to begin with. I can't really say it made me feel all that comforted or anything, but… it was nice of him. A nice, if slightly bizarre thought.

With Demyx in the doorway like he was, I understood something that I'd been missing all along. For all that there were people in the world—people like my mom, like that dad, like the dirty old guys I used to bum rides from at the lake house—for all that there were people like that who didn't want to play a big role in my life at all, there were still people like Demyx, maybe, who did. There were still people who, even if they didn't know me that well or even if they hadn't embedded themselves in my life or anything, would bend over backwards and then some for me, if for no other reason than because they felt they should.

"There's nothing… you know… _un-noble_, or anything about jumping ship," Demyx said. He had stopped looking at me. He was picking at the peeling paint on the doorframe. "No one would… think _less_ of your or anything if you didn't go out there tonight."

What he failed to mention was that no one would have thought less of me, probably, because by that point, they already thought so little of me that to think any less of me would be to not think of me at all. But I don't think Demyx was big into making those kinds of assumptions. I think he was just trying to tell me, in his own way, that I didn't have to be tarred and feathered and killed—that I could sneak out the backdoor and run quickly and quietly away and that would be that.

So why didn't I? It was that easy. Demyx said I could. He gave me an exit. He did everything short of shoving me through it and waving me farewell right there, right then in that dressing room. _Why didn't I do it?_

The answer?

I still don't know.

But this isn't about giving you answers, remember. This is about telling you what I did. And what I did was I nodded at Demyx, thanked him, and then went and met up with the rest of Promise for our short pre-show meeting we'd worked into our schedule from day one. And Demyx never again mentioned the door I didn't take.

The room we met in was a sort of off-white—the color the lake house had been before Axel showed up. I don't know why I was thinking that when I sat down with everyone else, but there it was—that thought—and I couldn't shake it so easily. Everyone was staring at me with their own unique kind of expectancy and there I was thinking about the siding on my dad's house… I was completely out of it. I was still thinking of slamming into the mirror back in my dressing room, only instead of a mirror, there was the side of my house, and at the bottom of that structure was a tiny door that was rapidly shrinking. I'm really almost completely and totally positive that that was some sort of meaningful alert my subconscious was throwing up for me, but I was too far gone to grasp that at the time.

I was only pulled away from my weird thoughts by this kind of dim realization that Hayner had just said something rude. You could tell because Kairi was glaring and Demyx was perplexed and everyone else was silence.

And all I could do with all the tact I definitely _didn't have_ was stupidly ask, "What?"

"I said what the hell is wrong with you, man? You don't even realize that this is IT, do you? We're not gonna be doing anymore of this shit after tonight, yanno? You screwed up," Hayner said.

"I want to make movies."

"You can't make movies, Roxas," Demyx said. He said it surprisingly quiet—usually he was loud and sure, but… was he uncertain or something? That hurt expression was back with Demyx again and I would have given anything to make it disappear. I couldn't help it. I had (and still do have) this weird devotion towards anyone who seems to care about me in the slightest, and Demyx's earlier conversation with me had somehow made him, in my mind, some kind of… saint. Okay, not saint, but… I don't know. I didn't want to hurt him. Not when he'd offered me the door.

But, "For God's sake," he whispered, "Luxord knew what he was doing, Roxas. Why didn't you just trust him, man? You needed connections. There's not a magic button you can press for instant fame." I wasn't going to tell him that there actually was—that there _must_ have been, because there I was, living proof, man of instant fame and glory himself, in the flesh. Some months ago no one knew who I was—I was a kid in my bedroom with a messed up family and more dreams than I could hold inside my head. My only conclusion was that they got so big they just exploded, and some resulting cosmic _spasm_ triggered this whole fame-and-glory business I'd landed myself in.

…Yeah. Yeah, that was it. That was _exactly_ what had happened.

"What you have in front of you right now is an amazing opportunity," Demyx told me. "A million people may go through their lives waiting for this day, waiting for what you have, and they will _never_ get it. You _have_ it, man. Right here. Why would you walk away from this? Why would you do anything to compromise this?"

He was contradicting himself—going against what he'd told me earlier, that it was okay to back out. Had it been okay to back out then? Was it not okay to back out now? I couldn't understand. Everyone was staring at me and I was trying to figure out what was and was not okay—when I could and couldn't leave.

"It's not what I want…" I tried.

It was Hayner's turn to speak then, whether linguistic logistics were on his side or not. Slamming his way into the conversation, he came fist-clenched and angry and very, very Hayner. "Well I'm sorry, Roxas," he said. "I'm _sorry_, but you don't get exactly what you want all the goddamn time in life, got it? I mean—how dare you fuck up this opportunity! Not just for you, but for all of us!" I wanted to kick at the ground until it would open up and take me in_. Give me the door again_, I thought. Hayner was right. Hayner asked, "Why can't you just _go_ with it?"

Demyx had gone quiet, and after Hayner's little explosion, the entire room seemed to turn back to Demyx for further instruction. Maybe it was because he was the oldest there. Maybe it was because he was probably the most qualified one of us for making it in a band in the first place. Either way, when Demyx finally spoke, everyone listened. I was glad for that. I was glad that in spite of everything, Demyx was still Demyx and Demyx was still respected, weird as it may seem to you.

He placed his hands on his thighs, leaned forward in his seat, and addressed me. "Well… have a look around, man," he said. "Do you see anything worth staying for?"

I looked.

And I _didn't_ see anything worth staying for. At all.

There was nothing in that room that I would give myself up for. Kairi with her big blue eyes, Demyx with his guitarist's hands, the rest of the boys who—I'll admit—I never even bothered to get to know that well. You couldn't be close to everyone. Even in a group of five, you can still make splits. You can still make breaks. Only I'd broken and split until it was just me. And, seeing that, I accepted it. I wasn't a part of Promise anymore. It wasn't even a matter of me deciding not to stay—I couldn't have. Even if I'd wanted to more than anything.

I shrugged my shoulders and Demyx gave me a nod. He wasn't angry anymore, if he ever had really been angry. He was probably still hurt and he probably still didn't understand entirely where I was coming from. But somehow, regardless of all that, when Demyx gave me that nod, the boys cooled down. They were resigned to what awaited them. And part of their resignation, I think, was due to the fact that they knew that what awaited me out there was infinitely, _infinitely_ worse than what awaited them.

x x x

I had been covered with gasoline and thrown into a fire pit and it burned so bad, I didn't know what to do. I'd never really gotten stage fright before. I wasn't a fearless madman on the concert scale, but I wasn't petrified to be out there. It had always felt like I was possessed for a while, that the real me sidestepped out of my body for a few hours and this fake me took hold of it, pulling and tugging and working my arms and legs and mouth through the entire thing. But _that_ night? At _that_ concert? I knew it was me those people were staring at and I knew there was no alter ego that could save me then.

We were on stage and I could see was a sea of girls and women. Maybe there were men there—I don't know. In my mind's eye now, though, all I can remember are the women. There were so many of them and some of them screamed, some of them shrieked, some of them shouted questions, and some of them stood silent. I couldn't begin to tell you how many of them stood silent and stared on with some kind of fascination. _Marry me, Roxas_—_I know you don't like dick_—_We all love you_—_Het pride_. What **was** that crap? The signs, the posters, the t-shirts? Where the hell had they come from? I couldn't tell if people hated or lusted or denied anything and everything. I didn't know what they wanted, but I definitely knew that I could never give it to them.

Not as a pinup pop star failure. Probably not as a director, either. And that was a terrible realization. The night was full of them. One after another. They came and hit me and wouldn't stop. I was on stage in front of thousands and having some sort of mental breakthrough or breakdown—I couldn't tell you the difference now even if I tried.

We went through our normal set and I kept it together seamlessly—I almost felt proud. My brain and body were on fire, but I was doing okay. I felt invincible—if I could do this, I could do anything. And the crowd seemed to believe it, too. I was winning them over and I didn't even know it then. They were buying right back into the image Luxord had built for me and I knew the man was a marketing genius—he could create and sell people like candy drugs and I was so close to becoming this legalized, addictive substance for teenage America. It was so close to me. It was right there for me, that one night.

And God, but if you could have heard them when the legendary beat pumped for Billie Jean. It sounded like they were dying, every one of them from the thousands there, screaming until they ruptured and then screaming some more because they were _possessed_ and _crazed_ and _drugged_ on the idea that pop was good and true—that I was good and true and that they knew me better than pictures and tabloids they did. Those possessed, crazed, drugged girls. I could have had them all if Luxord hadn't gone and made the one mistake that would dismantle his career and carry him down with us.

All five of us, all members of Promise were lined up and halfway through the sequence. I couldn't moon walk, but no one cared or noticed because no one there was old enough to know what the move really was supposed to look like. Halfway through and then the lights flashed. Something was wrong and the fire was back—I wanted to be sick. I saw a girl on stage and in whatever kind of haze it was that had hit me then, I thought she was a harpy for a moment, one from the possessed crowd. But she wasn't screaming or squawking. She was quite, calm and beautiful. She was perfect and she was Naminé.

Of all the stupid moves Luxord could've pulled. Almost nothing could've been worse. I hadn't seen Naminé in months; there had been petty celebrity gossip that our "relationship" was on the fritz. That we needed change. That we needed time. But the truth was that we'd never needed _anything_ because there'd never been an '_us_.' We were each other's complacent stepstools and we were polite and kind and considerate to one another but that was it. Naminé being up there made no sense. I couldn't move myself forward to touch her because it wouldn't have felt right to touch her, not having probably soiled her reputation like I probably had. She didn't deserve that. And I definitely didn't deserve to hold her and act like we were something we weren't—like something we never had been. What was I supposed to _do_?

It wasn't in the routine, and because it wasn't in the routine, I didn't _know_ what to do. All strings broke and I stood there stupid, not moving at all, not moving my mouth to the words, not prancing around to the tune.

_Kiss her, hold her, dance with her—something!_

I don't know if those words came from my head or from someone around me. I don't know how long I stood there. Naminé was composed as any good actress could make herself out to be, but the longer I stood there, the more her eyes started to betray her. She was scared and humiliated for me. Her knees shook. The light hit her in a bad way and she looked too skinny, too tired to stand.

The entire place went silent. It stayed silent for ten seconds—at fifteen there was a murmur that bubbled up like acid in a sick stomach—at thirty there came shouts—"What are you doing?", "What the hell's wrong with you?", "Do something!"

To the right of Naminé's ear, some ways far behind her offstage was a man with a camera dressed all in black. All I could do was stare into the lens while the world exploded, while everything finally flared up and burnt down to nothing.

I should have been the man with the camera.

It was all I could think.

It was all I still think.

Someone shouted "fag" in the audience. I ripped off my mic and threw it at them—those possessed freaks who had actually been dumb enough to think I was worthwhile. And then I walked offstage for the last time.

x x x

In my hotel room that night, I wondered what would happen to everyone. I couldn't think about **me** anymore—not because I already knew what was going to happen to me, but because I was so tired of thinking about myself that I just couldn't do it anymore. I decided that Luxord would become a bartender, Demyx would become a small-time musician who would play in Luxord's bar, Kairi would become a prostitute who would stand outside the bar on summer nights and inside the bar on winter nights, and the rest of the Promise boys would become regular bar-goers with regular salaries and regular lives.

Once I decided what would happen to everyone, I didn't have anything else to think about anymore.

Oh, there was the obvious. The _What now?_ The _Where from here? _But none of it seemed to matter. I was growing lighter by the second, I felt, and soon I'd lift off the ground and hit the ceiling, if I wasn't careful—if I wasn't grounded in thoughts and reality—thoughts that seemed too thoughtful to think, and a reality that seemed too real to be real.

I imagine that while I sat in my room and unplugged myself from the world and drifted around by the ceiling, the rest of Promise was meeting, was writing its will, was bidding farewell. I could picture each of them in an otherwise quiet lounge, cursing the day they wrote me in and showed me the ropes of their twisted world that was all they knew. And I wanted to laugh at them, but I couldn't. They weren't the ones who had failed, after all. That was all me.

At some point—maybe around six in the morning—someone knocked on my door.

It was Kairi.

She asked me the only things she seemed to know how to ask me—how I was. What I was doing. Where I was going. But really…

"Roxas… are you okay?" I stood there and stared at her and suddenly wanted more for her than prostitution and a nowhere-name. I even thought about telling her this, because she probably had a right to know. Because she probably had a right to know that I wanted her to leave Promise alive while she still could—to somehow make a name for herself_. Team up with Demyx!_ I wanted to say. _Both of you could make it—combined, I know you could. You could be like the new Belle and Sebastian or something. If you guys just stuck together you could do it. Sure, you'd have to tell Demyx you're actually a girl, but he'd get over it! Everyone would get over it and you'd get what you want and you'd be happy, Kairi. You'd be really, really happy._

Instead, I just said, "I've got some things to do now, Kairi."

I didn't really know what it was she had come to offer me right then. A place to stay, an ear to listen, a support system, an _out_. Maybe she knew of a door Demyx had missed. Maybe. Possibly. But I didn't see how I could accept anything from her. Not after what had just happened.

"Okay," she said. And then, because she probably gathered she'd never be seeing me again, she added, "Bye now, Roxas. Have a good life, alright?"

But how is it possible to have a good life if it feels like your life is already over?

Does that even make sense?

I don't know.

I let that thought roll around my head for a while as I packed my bag in silence. Then I entered the elevator (silence), went into the lobby (still silence), and turned in my room key without saying a word (self-explanatory silence.) I went outside to wait for who-knows-what in the not-so-silent Detroit air, and I felt that maybe that was the only smart move I'd made in a long, long time because as long as there was that noise around me, I couldn't really listen to myself being silent and stupid and lost.

Since I'd left home, I hadn't really given much thought to my hair—not because my hair was in this supernatural state of looking good all the time, but just because other people took care of it for me. I hadn't touched a hairbrush in some months and I definitely hadn't seen a pair of scissors within twelve inches of my skull since then, either. So for the first time in a long time, I was thinking about getting a haircut. Weird, how you can experience the major fallout of your lifetime, find yourself suddenly homeless, friendless, and without any sort of promising future and all you can seem to think about is getting a haircut.

Once I'd broken free of the Hilton, I was out on the streets, duffel bag in hand and not much else to my name, save a reputation that probably wouldn't even have gotten me in good graces with a pack of alley cats on the Detroit side streets. It was deja vu like I'd never felt before, and it hit me cold and hard. The only difference I could see between the me of that moment and the me of some months ago—homeless on Axel's doorstep—was that when I'd been homeless the first time, I'd at least had a really, _really_ nice video camera. Not for long—not after Axel happened to it—but at least I'd had it for a while.

Axel… he hadn't been at the concert, had he? I couldn't figure out why I'd frozen in that one moment—why I'd assumed, even for a second, that he'd care enough to show his face there. In the one real moment I'd needed him there, he was nowhere to be found. I realized then that I was probably an idiot to ever have thought might have been different. And to this day, I don't even really know what I would have done if Axel had been there. For all that I've run through that concert over and over in my head a million times and more, always playing out as it could have been, as it should have been, were things different… for all that I've gone through the motions time and time again, I can never answer myself that one question—never picture for myself that one change. _WHAT IF AXEL HAD BEEN THERE_?

I tell myself to think about it. I can't. I fast forward to the moment where I'm burning up on stage, under those lights, praying for something to happen, praying for someone to come to my defense and still no one does. No one ever does. I can watch myself scan the crowd countless times and still Axel will never be there, no matter how hard I focus, no matter how hard I hope. I guess that puts the reality to a situation like that—if it's so impossible you can't even force your brain to wrap around it. I've never been out for being lame and materialistic enough to… shop away my sorrow or anything, but I didn't really know what else I could do at that point.

First, I went to the nearest posh-looking hair salon I could find and had them cut my hair. On impulse at the cash register, I bought a bottle of hair dye and later went into a public restroom and spent an hour bent over a sink, dripping toxic sludge down the drain and killing brain cells with violent vapors. When I looked at myself in the mirror again, I was a brunette. I'd become Sora in almost every way I could imagine. Only Sora was happy. After that, I pulled on my sunglasses, mussed up my hair, and hit the streets again. This time no one glanced at me twice.

I flagged down a cab and got started.

I bought Kairi a dress from Neiman Marcus, a Gucci bag, Steve Madden pumps and a mink fur coat that was so soft I had to kinda hold myself back from just curling up on the sidewalk and falling asleep wrapped in the thing. I bought Demyx more of that high-end hair gel he was always going through, not to mention a 24k gold guitar pick that I'm not even sure you could really use on a guitar. I bought a jar of olives for Luxord, a 3lb. box of Godivas for my mother, and a pair of Armani shoes for my dad. Why I bought anything for Luxord or my mom _or_ my dad—well, I just don't really know. But I did. I bought a top-of-the-line digital camera for Larxene, which I thought was pretty clever of me at first, but later just thought pretty obnoxious, so I ended up giving it to some kid who was looking for his dog. Now that I think about it, that didn't really make a lot of sense, but again, it was just a think that sort of happened on me.

I thought about buying a car, an LCD TV, an arcade system, a Jacuzzi—but then I realized I didn't have a home to put any of it in. And so then I thought about buying a fancy apartment—that penthouse I'd wanted, even—but then I realized I would have nothing worthwhile to put in it. I could fill it with all the pointless junk my money could buy—which was a lot of pointless junk—but… what then? What would I have aside from a really nice, expensive, elite little box to rattle around in all day? I couldn't see myself living there. I couldn't see myself living anywhere. The only place I could see myself was in the backseat of a Detroit cab, racking up a hundred-and-fifty dollar cab fare and nearly drowning to death in designer shopping bags rolling around the backseat with me. And let me just tell you, if you've never experienced it before, it's a pretty terrifying thing to realize that you've worked yourself into a corner you can't get out of, no matter how much you want or how hard you try.

I could picture myself nowhere but exactly where I was.

I don't want you to think I didn't buy Axel anything. I did. What better way to waste money than to buy random junk for the person who most destroyed your life, right? Exactly. So when I came across this camel hair coat in the window of the shop whose name I'm not even going to try to remember… well, I figured that was it. It cost me somewhere around three hundred dollars and it was wrapped in tissue paper and laid out in a box. The person doing the wrapping asked if it was a gift. I told them it was. He added a huge, red bow to the box and then charged be ten more dollars for gift-wrap. I wondered why three hundred dollars wasn't enough to buy a cheap red bow on a box, but I didn't question. I was questioned out. I went back to the cab.

From there, it was just a trip to the post office to send packages to their respected destinations. And from there? Just a familiar trip to a familiar lake and a place that no longer felt familiar enough to be home.

x x x

If you want to know the details of how Axel and I ended up sitting outside his apartment, you can forget it. All I'm going to tell you is that when I went to him that afternoon, I didn't want him. I didn't want him in my life and I didn't want to be in his. I wanted to give him his coat and I wanted to leave. A parting gift and that was all. But as I stood in front of his door, I suddenly had this impulse to set the jacket on fire and just leave it—this burning pile of poorly spent, dirtily earned money—sitting and smoldering in front of his apartment.

Skip that. Axel was beside me, we were sitting on the curb, the coat was between us in its box. The red bow had gone and gotten mud on it, but Axel didn't notice. He was too busy staring at my weird, brown hair. "Roxas. …What happened to your hair?"

"I dyed it," I said. "What does it look like?"

"Well, I…" He was trying to be supportive and it was sad that he couldn't really tell me how much he thought my hair sucked. I wanted my old Axel back. If I had to have Axel, that was the Axel I wanted. The old bad-ass boy who had lured me to parties and boats and apartments not my own—not the guy next to me then, just looking to please, just looking to apologize. Not the Axel who lied to my face and told me very carefully, "It looks okay. I mean, I kinda… liked the blonde, but if this is your thing, it's—"

"I dyed it so people couldn't recognize me, Axel."

"That bad, huh?" he asked. His face looked like it wanted to smile and a sound hitched in his throat. Suddenly I was aware that I didn't want the old badass Axel, either. I didn't want a man who would lure me in, play me up, and then cut me down and…

"Are you _laughing_?"

…And _laugh_ about it.

"No! No, no—me? _Never_!" But he _was_ laughing and all at once I felt the same humiliation and self-pity I'd felt up there on that stage, but ten times colder, ten times lonelier. In the shadow of Axel's shop and home, he was the only one to see me lose my _last ounce_ of pride. It would have been better to lose it all in front of thousands, the way _real_ people go down in _real_ stories. That was what I told myself, because I knew that if I couldn't keep resenting Axel, I would probably just end up curled up in his lap and crying about everything. I would rather die, I thought—and a hundred thoughts like it followed suit. When Axel spoke, his words jarred me like a gunshot—_**BANG BANG BANG BANG**_—and I blinked and stared and tried to tell myself I wasn't going to think anymore.

"Hey now, Roxas, come on," he was saying.

_Stop thinking_, I was telling myself. _No thought, just action. Enough with thought. Forget thought. _

_You're not an intellect._

_You never will be._

_No one will ever know your depth and you yourself will never truly explore it._

_Let it die._

_But let it die in a burst of fucking __**glory**_

And so it began.

"No, I won't '_come on'_, you idiot! This is all **your** fault anyway!"

"Why is it always my fault, huh?"

"It was _you_ and _your_ stupid **siding** business and your stupid _lightning_ episode that got us into this in the first place, Axel!"

"One: it's my old man's business, not mine. Two: I thought there was no us? And three: …Dude. I mean. Seriously. I'm not self-destructive enough to, like, summon lightning down to smite me good."

I think he instantly knew that was the wrong thing to say, because I wasn't caught off-guard and I wasn't fumbling with my words. I was finding myself just getting more angry—this huge, uncontrollable anger like I'd never felt before. Like I'll probably, hopefully, never feel again. It felt like a drug, like someone had just pumped my veins with some chemical and they were swelling—my entire body was swelling to try and make room for whatever was building up and getting ready to completely explode.

If you were Axel, you'd probably make a pretty dirty joke right about now. But that's honestly what it felt like. You can't know unless you've felt it, too. The best explanation I can come up with is that it was some kind of really basic, pure **rage**. Almost primal. Almost enough to send me lunging forward, ripping and tearing Axel to pieces with my bare almost-man hands.

Well, I managed to keep myself in check, for the most part. Not completely, but if there was ever a beast in me right then, I kept it down. I just didn't keep it silent. …Actually, I didn't really keep it down too well, either. …To be kind of, sort of, completely honest, I actually really lost it.

I started screaming and raving like the maddest madman: "Well where the fuck WERE _YOU_ when they fucking _CRUCIFIED_ me, Axel?"

I was crying and shaking, and before I knew it, I was hitting him. I felt my fist hit his face, which I had always thought was so stiff, so bony, so lacking. But I felt skin there—wet skin, wetter still when it broke and bled—when my fist connected with the front of his face. I split his lip, I watched him bleed. I wanted him to go down. I wanted to see him fall down and bleed harder, and then, I thought to myself, I'd kick him. Until he bled more. Until he cried for me to stop. "_**Where were you?**_" I was shouting. Completely out of control. "You always go on and on about how much you **care**, how **sorry** you are! How about you _show_ it, for once, instead of just _saying_ it? You could show me I mean something to you—_there's_ a brilliant idea!"

"Roxas, just calm the fuck down, already, would you?!" He was speaking around the blood in his mouth and I wanted _so badly_ to drive my fist into it again. It was disgusting. It was sick. But it felt _so good_.

"**SCREW** YOU!" I think that was probably about the time when I threw myself down on top of Axel and started trying to punch him in the face again. Only the problem with trying to punch people when you're getting really emotional is that you can't really see well if you're crying and you can't really pack a good punch if your fingers aren't focused enough to form a fist. So basically it was just kind of me sitting on top of Axel, kind of beating around the general area I thought his face was. He got his hands up there and I don't think I even really laid a good blow on him after that, but he was cursing enough to make it seem like a pretty valid fight.

He managed well enough to catch both of my fists in his own palms, which I never realized were even big enough to hold my curled fists to begin with. Axel looks like such a small person from afar, that it's easy to forget how not-small he actually is. He stands like a tree—a tree that could get knocked over with a good gust of wind, sure, but still a tree all the same. It probably wasn't as much of a challenge for him as I would have liked—him gaining control and shoving me up and off of him, me still trying to scramble and beat him some more, but the worst had come at gone in a flash and instant. Axel was bleeding and Axel was restraining my stupid, weak attempts at violence with relative ease. The only reason I had probably landed any successful blow on him at all was probably because Axel was stunned stupefied into a state of numbness and didn't even notice he'd been hit until after the fact.

At some point Axel's elbow knocked me in the mouth and I was ecstatic to find myself hurting. And then, just like that, I was off of him, sitting to his side while he poked at his own blood with some kind of morbid interest and just fixed me with this looked that stood well on the line between fascination and complete and total hurt.

"Screw you," I said once more, like it had some meaning to it. I was mad because my lip was swollen and I'd either wanted to make it through a fight emerging untouched or emerging as a bloody pulp. A swollen lip meant Axel had gone easy on me. A swollen lip meant that I had lost my temper and Axel had done a pretty good job of restraining his. I had never felt so young and immature next to him as I did in that moment, the two of us sitting outside the porn shop, lights off and with nowhere we really felt like going.

"What, you're not man enough to say 'fuck' again?" Axel asked. If he was trying to get me riled up again after all that, I have to admit that it worked out pretty well.

"Just stop it already!" I could hear myself snapping at him. I didn't know where I got the energy to do it. All I could think about was how I should have set the jacket on fire and run, like I'd planned on doing in the first place. "You've _wrecked everything_, isn't that enough for you? Just _stop_ now!"

He sighed. "Roxas," he said, "you're such a goddamn drama queen sometimes, I swear it just kills me." He tried to put his arm around my shoulders as some sort of friendly gesture, I guess, but I almost punched him again.

"Don't touch me."

"Listen to me, man."

"I'd rather not."

"I'm sorry you think I destroyed your life."

"Can't you do anything other than say how stupid and sorry you are?"

"I would, but you won't let me. Can I give you a hug?"

"No."

"See what I mean?" He sighed again, this time leaning forward, elbows on his knees as if breathing out exhausted him. "Yanno, there was a time when all you wanted me to do, probably, was hug you." I remembered Axel and me laughing in a hotel somewhere about something that probably hadn't been all that funny. I couldn't remember, then, if we'd been clothed or not, and I couldn't figure out why I seemed to think it mattered. I shook my head to try and get rid of the thought—that much I know—but Axel took the gesture as a response to his question. "No?" he asked.

I couldn't find it in me to explain, so I just played on like it was meant to be. "No."

"I don't believe you." Axel turned back toward the street and toed at a torn up patch of asphalt with his toe. I'd forgotten he wasn't wearing shoes and I almost wanted to care about his feet getting cold, but I tried to keep myself in check. I tried so hard to not care. Especially when Axel said, "_So_. Heeere we are."

"There's no **WE**, Axel. I'm here and you're here and there's NO. WE."

He seemed to think over my words for thirty seconds out of sheer politeness, but eventually he just sighed _again_ in that really extravagant way Axel tends to sigh—leaning back, lungs filling to their absolute capacity with air, shoulders rising—and then the massive gust of a sigh released. It was no wonder he looked so exhausted after sighing. No one should make that much of a show of breathing heavy.

"…Here we are," he said again.

"Go away, already…"

"Can I make it up to you?"

"I doubt you're much into self-sacrifice."

"You'd be surprised. I mean it. Can I do something for you?"

"You can feel miserable for the rest of your pathetic life," I said. I knew I was being immature, but that hardly mattered.

"I'm serious, Roxas."

"So am I, Axel."

"You don't mean that." I did mean it, the second I'd said that, but immediately after—immediately as Axe said the words 'You don't mean that,' I changed my mind. Okay, no, I didn't mean it. Especially not when Axel kept going, when he kept right on talking in this strange voice that I didn't even really think belonged to him: "You _can't_ mean that…"

And then something _really_ strange happened.

I thought it was a facial twitch at first, and that made me start thinking that maybe all this had actually taken some kind of toll on Axel that I didn't know about. His entire upper face just sort of blinked, almost—it scrunched together for a split second and then released. The tip of his nose and the very ends of his earlobes turned pink in the streetlamp light and his eyeballs started moving rapid-fire and his entire face was just this cataclysmic explosion of muscle and vibration. And then I saw it. A tiny speck of moisture inked its lone way out of the corner of Axel's eye, crawling from his tear duct like some kind of deranged water-baby being born into the Earth. The thing didn't even have enough mass to it to roll as a tear properly should. It was so small that its movement down Axel's face was agonizingly slow, and by the time it reached his chin, where it should have dropped off and into the air, there was almost nothing left of the tear that had been doomed to such a short and unfulfilling lifespan.

I said the only thing I could think of saying, and to this day I wish I'd never been such an idiot. "What's wrong with your face?" I asked. Stupid. Callous. Unfeeling me.

"Whaddya _think_, you dumbass?" Axel growled.

"Axel, what are you doing?"

Some sick part of me really wanted to laugh when he grabbed at his hair and pulled it around, screwing it up even more than it was usually… you know. Screwed up. His mouth was this distorted line of a thing and I started picking up on the fact that Axel was just one of those people who looked really emotionally disturbed when they cried. And I felt like for all Axel had ever done to me, I could definitely have jumped on this freakish flaw of his and rubbed it in his face. I probably would have, if he hadn't had that slightly damp cheek and if he wasn't about to pull his hair out in chunks and fistfuls.

He groaned/moaned/snarled, "I'm _crying_, you stupid fucking dip! _GOD_! I _know_ I screwed things up for you—I mean, I really, really _did_—and I know, I know, I know, and I'm _sorry_! **Je**sus, Roxas! What more do you _want_ from me? I don't know what I can do to make it any better and I'm sorry! There's not a single damn thing I can do. I'm sorry. How many times do I have to say it to make you understand_? I'm sorry_. They're not just words, Roxas. I mean them. I'm _still sorry_! I would do anything to prove that to you."

He took a breather then, removed his hands from his hair and licked his lips. In the span of two minutes, he'd traversed whatever grounds of emotional chaos he had within him and had come full circle. Axel cleared his throat. The facial twitch was gone. The world was right. "And I'm still sorry," he said. "And you love me," he said. "You _have_ to love me, you completely fucked-up idiot."

It was weird, but as I had watched Axel rip himself up over the whole thing, the less terrible I felt. There's probably some sort of evil, psychotic process at work there, but no matter what it was, I know I started to care less as Axel cried. I felt redeemed, somehow, that it killed Axel so much to have caused me pain. It felt good to know he was suffering and good to know he was inflicting that suffering, for the most part, on his own self. Like I said. Twisted. Evil. Psychotic. But it calmed me down.

My fingers felt rubbery against my swollen lip and I had to fight the urge to smile. I said, "I wonder why you didn't die." And Axel was still twitching in that way that most people probably don't twitch, but he looked at me bewildered, he looked at me wide-eyed and half-teary and open. I realized that those words probably made it seem as though I wanted Axel to die, which wasn't the case. That had never been the case and it never will be, either. That much is safe to say. "That time you got struck by lightning," I said, trying to elaborate, trying to sound not quite so morbid. "I wonder why you didn't die then."

"Grace of God," he almost moaned.

"If there is one," I said.

"I didn't die because I was touched by an angel, baby," he said pathetically.

"Screw off."

"There we are again—failure to use the word fuck."

"I don't want to talk to you. Beat it."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong. You must want to talk to me, Roxas. I mean. You are _here_, and all." That obnoxious, self-assured Axel was back again and it almost made me wish for another breakdown to fall on his big head. Especially as he leaned closer and—I swear—_crooned_, "A very wise man once said 'all you need is love.'"

"The Beatles?" There was probably some kind of derisive snort-like noise here. Knowing me and knowing how annoyed and conflicted I felt about anything Axel-related at that point—even his words about old legends. "Yeah. Definite wise men."

"This coming from the kid who sold his soul to pop music?" he asked.

"I wasn't joking," I said.

"Oh." Somehow he skirted around his blunder, back in time a few minutes to a previous topic. I noticed, but it's not like I cared. "Maybe," he said, "I didn't die because all this was supposed to happen. I mean. Suppose we have predetermined destinies and all that shit."

"Somehow I find that very hard to believe." Even thinking that some greater being intended to have my life turn out so miserably didn't really change the fact that… my life had still turned out miserably. Given the circumstances, you could even maybe go so far as to say that if there was some greater power in control of my life, then said greater power must have been having something close to the time of his own life screwing with mine. …Sorry. My bad. 'Fucking' with mine—that's what I meant.

"I bought you a coat," I told Axel. Kind of awkward timing, but nothing else was going on.

"You did?" Axel asked. As if didn't notice that there was a definite physical something sitting right there in between us. He was either oblivious as always or just pulling my leg because he felt like… well, pulling my leg. But even if he was pulling my leg, I doubt even he understood why I'd gone and had the impulse to buy him something after he'd—you've heard it thousands of times by now—_ruined my life_.

"Yeah. It's in that box." I thought about it for a second, and then decided to go on ahead and finish what I was saying. "I was gonna set it on fire. But now that you're here, you might has well have it."

"…You mean now that _you're_ here?"

"…Look, it doesn't matter, okay?"

"Why'd you buy me a jacket?"

Because I couldn't really think of a reason as to why I'd spent thousands of dollars buying random things for people that day, I just said the first and foremost thing on my mind right then. "Because I hate my life." As if that was a real explanation, Axel took it in stride. He opened the box and pulled out the camel hair coat, letting out a low whistle and running his hands over it like it was an actual camel or something.

"Fuckin' expensive shit, man," he said quietly.

"Who cares?"

"You know what you are? _Jaded_."

"Get off me."

"I love how you always say that, but never mean it. Would you be here if you did?"

"I was going to set the jacket on fire and leave it by your door," I reminded him. Instead of actually thinking about what that message meant, Axel just nodded and started talking again.

He said, "One time Demyx n' me—we shoveled up a bunch of his dog's shit and put it in a paper bag." I couldn't really see where he was going with that, but it sounded like the worst possible tangent to be on after the fallout of my life I'd just gone through the night before.

Still, I couldn't really think of anything else to say other than, "…Okay?"

"Then we set it on fire and threw it at our French teacher's door."

"She ever find out it was you?"

"_He_," Axel corrected me. Then he smiled. "And no," he said. "He never did find out. Not as far as I can tell, anyway. But. Jackass had it coming."

I pictured Axel and Demyx running wild as teenagers and setting things on fire. That was a chapter of life I'd probably never experience. I couldn't see Axel running around launching projectile flaming dog dung at doors anymore and I couldn't see myself going along with it, either. On that note, I shrugged. "I probably wouldn't have gone through with it, now that I think about it. Burning the coat, I mean."

"Yeah, I figured. It's a sweet coat." That was Axel's way of saying 'thank you', in case you're curious. I doubt you are.

"That's not why I wouldn't have set it on fire," I told him. He just shrugged his shoulders and ran his fingers along the coat some more. He admired the finished seams and pulled at the buttons to see if they'd come off. In a way, it was laughable, watching Axel examine such an expensive, stupid thing to see if it had any real quality to it. But, seeming satisfied and happy, he finally folded the thing up carefully and returned it to its tissue paper and cardboard shrine. I doubt he even noticed the red bow, much less the mud that flecked it.

"Face it, man. You're in deep," he said.

"Hardly."

"Truly. Fully. Completely and totally submersed. _In. Deep_. Like I said."

I didn't know if he meant I was in deep—stuck in a situation I'd gone and dug myself into—or in deep—stuck in a time-bomb "romance" I'd gone and gotten myself into with him. The latter I was sure was only temporary. The former… I wasn't so sure at all. I couldn't tell Axel that, though. He wasn't the kind of person who ever believed that there was a point that could be hit where nothing was right anymore. The problem between us was that I knew full well that that point was realer than anything. Instead of telling him this, I just spoke the closest truth I could jump to. "I don't know if I can ever forgive you."

"To be honest, I don't see how you _could_."

"So what now?" I asked.

"I dunno." And he really must not have known, because he jumped topics wildly then, not like he was desperate, but just like he was putting trouble on the backburner in favor of something nicer, lighter, cleaner. He said, "I ever tell you I wanted to be a gardener?"

"One of your many life's passions left unfulfilled, huh? Axel…"

"Yep. Gardener Axel. I thought it'd be wicked. The girls would go wild. Then, when girls were no longer a deal, I figured the guys would go wild 'cause I'd always _smell_ like a fucking girl—fuckin'… _flowery_ and shit."

I tried imagining the same flaming-shit-flinging Axel tending flowers. I think it goes without saying, but the image just really wasn't there. "I really can't picture you as a gardener," I said. "No offense or anything, I mean… you just…"

"Hey, it's cool. Truth is, I sucked at it. I always watered the goddamn plants too much, yanno? I was so afraid they'd fuckin' die on me if I left them alone for, like, two seconds. I was out there every day, watering this whole giant patch of flowers I put in. I mean, that's what they need, right? H-two-O. And that's it." "I ended up drowning most of the stupid garden, anyway. The ones that didn't drown died when fall came and didn't bother coming back the year after."

"What else did you want to be?"

"A rock star." He laughed, looked like he was about to playfully hit me in the arm, and then seemed to think twice about it. Instead, he counted off on his fingers: "A playwright. A journalist. A zoologist. A comedian. A lawyer. An actor. A mechanic. A chemical engineer, a mechanical engineer. A physician, psychiatrist, orthodontist, paleontologist. Astrologist, meteorologist. You name it, I wanted to be it."

"You ever want to be the owner of a porn shop?" I asked him.

"It occurred to me." He grinned and that time he couldn't resist a little sock to the arm. "Why?"

"You're just saying that because it's what you got."

"Maybe. Doesn't matter. Don't see me complaining, do you?"

"No…" I said. "I don't."

"Roxas." He leaned forward. He said my name again and then he made his case. "It doesn't matter, man, what you _do_ in life. It's who you're _with_ in life. That—" he smiled "—_that's_ the shit that matters. _That's_ the shit that gets you."

I realized then that Axel was, before anything else, completely and totally naïve. I didn't know how I'd missed it before—how I'd been so sure of my knowledge of him and yet had drawn a complete and utter blank in where his brain should have been. It wasn't that Axel was brainless or emotionless. Axel had plenty of brains and emotions to go around. It's just that whatever knowledge, whatever feeling that all amounted to was that of some idealistic moron I couldn't understand or relate to. So with that realization I stood up. I dusted the dirt off, ran my hands through my hair and checked my watch like I had somewhere to be. I didn't, but I couldn't exactly stay there. You know how it is.

"I'm out," I said.

"Will you come back?" he asked.

"I don't know." And because I didn't know much of anything—where I was going, what I was doing, what I was supposed to say—I borrowed Axel's owned words and twisted them to fit. "To be honest, I don't see how I could."

That's when I began walking. And I didn't intend to look back.

I was, in that moment, where I'd begun. When I reached the gas station, I almost laughed when I thought back on the day and realized that in all that shopping and all that spending, I had never bought myself the new video camera that had sent me out on that whole chapter of my life in the first place. Still smiling to myself and no one else in particular, I got a ride off the next truck that pulled in heading south. I figured I would wander and spend for as long as it took to find out where I was.

The truck driver was a pretty well fed guy with saggy, hairy arms and a bald spot that took over most of his head. He seemed to think that because all his hair was white, he was a wizened kind of guy aiding the young. At least, that's what it seemed like. Like he was a prophet of some kind. Like he was trying to enlighten me. Old Man Prophet was so focused on enlightening me—his follower, I guess you could say—that he wasn't all that good with keeping his eyes on the road. We swerved around a little, but I wasn't all that worried. Nothing could possibly have gotten any worse. Nothing could possibly have worried or upset me by that point.

Old Man Prophet told me, "The road is knowledge, kid. You move down the road as you move through life—that's the way of it all. The more time you're on the road, the more you know about how things are. And how things are? Things are bad. Bad each day and getting worse." Rolling around the floor of the car was a tin of chewing tobacco. It slid and clinked against the door with every swerve, like it was trying to get out.

"Boy yeah," Prophet was saying. "Boy yeah, things is gettin' worse still. And still, boy. Never stops. I tell you…" And he did tell me. He told me about the road, about how he met his wife on the road. She was a waitress at a truck stop. They had three children—one of them died at a young age, one of them got pregnant at a young age, and he didn't mention the third after saying that it was born. I wondered if every man who ever aged either became more like my father or more like Old Man Prophet. The differences between them were obvious enough.

Old Man Prophet kept talking at me. I wasn't paying all that much attention, but I took enough in to let out the appropriate kind of noises that gave the impression I was hanging on his every word. When he told me about Des Moines, he said it was his hometown. When he talked about his wife and remaining kids, he talked about Shiloh. When he talked about he trip home, he talked about Philly. And when I was smart enough to put them all together, it meant I was smart enough to actually worry about myself. But by then it was too late.

The tin of tobacco hit the door again. There were no pictures of a wife and children on the dashboard. The only decoration was a palm-sized iron emblem of a pair of bullhorns, swinging from the rearview mirror.

Old Man Prophet nodded his great head slowly. He said, "It's a long, hard road, no matter which way you take it, yeah. And it gets terrible, terrible lonely, it does."

When Old Man Prophet pulled off to the side of the road, I realized it could get worse. I realized I didn't know where I was and that wasn't an okay thing. I realized that I didn't want this. _Whatever, whoever is listening to me_, I thought, _just take some stupid pity on me this one time_. I swore I'd fix whatever wrong I'd done, I swore I'd pull my life back together. I'd donate my money to charities, I'd go become a monk, I'd go and move on and get out of this rut, but I had to have someone hear me first. _Whatever, whoever is listening to me, please, please,_ I thought.

Old Man Prophet touched my face and I screamed.

I bit his fingers, he cursed. He threw me back against the window, I cried. I kicked him in the gut, he flinched. He flinched and cursed and threw his meaty arms at me and I fumbled blindly with the latch and fell so far until I hit the gravel by the side of the road and rolled into the ditch.

Without another word, the Prophet slammed the door and drove on.

The grass grew tall there by the side of the road and I figured no one would see me if I just bedded down in it for the rest of the day. I wouldn't move. I wouldn't do anything. I closed my eyes, I heard the voice of Old Man Prophet—"It's a long, hard road, no matter which way you take it, yeah. And it gets terrible, terrible lonely…"—and wondered if he really was a prophet and if the road really was so hard whichever way you took it. And that was the only thing I thought, lying on the side of the road, staring up at the sky at the end of the line. It was going to be night soon.

Hours went by. Cars went by.

And then someone kicked me and I really, seriously did think then that I was going to die. That it was Luxord back for vengeance, that it was Kairi's dead baby looking for its father, that it was Old Man Prophet come back to ensure his word was final. But no. It wasn't any of them.

It was Axel, and he came with the night and sat down in front of me.

I don't know if you've been to hell and back. Somehow I doubt you have. We all picture hell as a burning inferno, and maybe it really is just that. But trying to break free of it is less like breaking from a fire and more like breaking from an ocean. It's easier, in my opinion, to drown in hell than it is to burn in it. The surface is always there; it's just always too far away. Axel's persistence was the hand that finally gave up waiting above the surface and plunged through to drag me out… as the saying goes… come hell or high water.

"There's no getting rid of you, is there?" I asked him.

He said no.

"How did you know where I was?"

"You forget, man." And he shrugged his shoulders and he leaned back and he might have smiled—must have smiled—because it was in his voice when he said, "I know you. I know how to find you."

"So now…?"

"Now? We head home. And that's all there is to it."

We walked all the way home. It took us all night and well into the day. But in the end, we were okay.

And that's what you wanted to hear.

If you want the rest of the story… well, that's not a story for me to tell.

If my life was an epic arc of movies, and that entire part of my existence made up just one film, the credits would have started rolling at that point. When I left with Axel right then, not sure if he would make me happy, but more than positive that he was better than the road right then. But in the metaphorical credits we're talking about? My name would have appeared a lot in the list of names, of actors, of contributors—Axel's once or twice, and the theme song would play throughout, and after it faded away, there might be an instrumental cover of it—something not-too-slow and not-too-dismal, something that would say with some sort of certainty, "_This is not quite the end_."

And then maybe, once the last of the names had disappeared and the last notes of music had died away and the screen had gone dark… then, _maybe_, one last thing would happen. Because, after all, if it was a movie about my life, it would be a movie about the _universal_ life—life in general. And the thing you have to understand about life in general is that it will always surprise you and keep going, even when you think it's over.


	11. Death Of The Theme Song

**Marigold**

'Death Of The Theme Song'

x.Axel.x

Okay. I get it. You wanna know what happened to us. Am I right?

Well too fuckin' bad, man. We're talking private, personal information, and if there's one thing I value above every little damn other thing in this _world_, it has to be my privacy.

But as you know, as I know, as the whole damn world knows, I'm not a cruel son of a bitch. So I'll tip my hat in your general direction—a thank you for putting up with me, with us—and I'll have you know the gist of the myth of Roxas and I.

He painted my apartment and I resided it and now it's as respectable-looking as any porn shop home can possibly be. My room is orange—Roxas' idea: both the color and the continued referral to it as _Axel's Room_. For all intensive purposes, its really _Axel and Roxas' Room_, but I guess I shouldn't take liberties, huh? The kid's still a freakball and still spends some nights on the couch—not because he's mad, he says, but just because he wants to.

So not much has changed, you could say. Roxas still writes his scripts sometimes. And sometimes I still get to read them when he's not around and completely unawares. He never willingly shows them to me anymore, but I guess that's what I get for everything that's happened. I don't really know if it'll ever be okay for him to just up and give me a little piece of his work and passion and life ever again, but I'd like to think that a little thing called _effort_ sometimes pays off in the end.

One of my favorite scenes Roxas has ever written was a scrap I found in his trash bin last February. Call me a snoop—see if I care. I definitely don't, in case you were wondering. It was a little speech given by a woman to a man she's lying next to after they fell asleep watching Babe. You know. That film with the incredibly realistic talking pig. She wakes up and the TV is blue—that shade of blue you get when the tape runs out. I don't know why they don't have a DVD player—the script didn't explain it—but there you have it. A blue screen. A sleeping man. A woman wide awake and wondering why they just watched an old kids' movie about talking farm animals.

In the script she smiles. She hums a tune. She leans down and whispers in the ear of the man beside her:

_If I had words to make a day for __**you**__, I would start by having you wake up in your own bed in your own home. The walls would be painted like orange juice and your blankets would be red like apples and so you wouldn't have to even bother leaving your room to taste breakfast because it would come right up and kiss you on the cheek the very moment you opened your eyes. The room would be quiet, but not too quiet—the window cracked open just enough so you could smell the grass and hear the sighs of the world outside, alive and waking and new. And I would be beside you when you turned and I would still be asleep and you would kiss me like so many apples and oranges in the morning and say to me, "Wake up. The sun is out. It's a good day."_

Roxas isn't perfect. If anything, according to that trashed script of his, he's a closeted sap. But, I'm willing to admit that I'm far from perfect. You, of all people, should know both those things and tell me something now that goes like, "Well, _shit_, man, that's all you've got to say?"

What else is there to say? What can you say when you've reached the peak of your life and everything—childhood plans and dreams be damned—is just the way you want it?

All I know is this.

_Axel and Roxas' Bedroom_ is orange juice orange.

_Axel and Roxas'_ _Bed Sheets _are apple red.

And when I feel like waking that kid up, I'm going to lean over and I'm going to say, "Wake up. The sun is out. It's a good day."

And he'll probably hit me because he'll know I've been going through his files again.

But you know what?

…Well.

You **know** what.

It's a good day, regardless.

x. end .x


End file.
